


Made Out of Blood and Rust

by Chash



Series: dragonsssssss [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Temeraire Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Clarke/Lexa Friendship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Clarke Griffin finds a dragon egg and decides she's going to be an aviator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Egg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizardbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizardbits/gifts).



> Liz gave me the most glorious prompt of all time on Tumblr, and I am trying to do it justice, but this may not even be possible. Here it is, for posterity:
> 
> "i wish u would write a fic where dragons happen to the 100 and clarke is the fancy lady clarke of snootingham who accidentally harnesses a longwing and bellamy is her extremely surly first lieutenant who thinks she's going to ruin everything with her fancy lady ways but then they FALL IN LOVE WHILST NEARLY DYING IN BATTLE also octavia and iskierka became bosom friends. no one is a llama."
> 
> If you're familiar with the Temeraire series, this takes place later than the series, probably in the 1840s or so? I am going to do NOT WELL AT ALL with both history and consistent vernacular, so get pumped for that. Probably more should have changed in these years based on the events of the books, but I do what I want okay. If you're not familiar with the Temeraire series, you're probably fine. Dragons are happening. I hope the rest will be clear from context.
> 
> Also, Lexa is a dragon, in case that's not a thing you're into. Other members of the cast may also be dragons! We're going to see how it goes. Bellamy won't be, don't worry about that. Also I haven't done a real multi-chapter story in AGES, but Liz knows where I live and will come and kill me if I don't finish it, so we should be fine.

Clarke finds the egg when she's seventeen, and it hatches when she's twenty. Those three years are time enough for her to do a great deal of research on dragons in general and her egg in particular, and that's the reason why she decides to take on the harnessing herself instead of telling the Aerial Corps about it as she knows would be proper. If the Corps heard of it, they'd certainly take it, and right from the first sight of it, Clarke knew the egg was _hers_.

It's not easy to find books, not only because they're something of a curiosity, but because ladies are not meant to show interest in things like dragons. She's always found them fascinating, sneaked what few volumes she could from her father's library, but once she finds the egg, it becomes urgent, not just an idle hobby but a future. She bribes village boys to bring her what they can find and writes letters to scholars, posing as a man without ever coming out and saying it. Lady Clarke is obviously a woman with no business asking about the identification of eggs; Clarke Griffin could be any gentleman with an interest in the field.

It takes doing to find that Longwings actually _favor_ female riders; the secret is close kept, buried in euphemisms and insinuations. She'd already suspected there was nothing to _stop_ a lady attempting a harnessing, but the knowledge that whatever is waiting in the egg would prefer it makes her sure. This is _her_ dragon: she's the one caring for its egg, she's the one who speaks to it to teach it language, and she will be the one to harness it. 

Making the harness also proves to be a challenge. Though the servants and working men on her father's estate like her well enough and she's sure they won't give her away, she dares not ask them their assistance in constructing it, for once her parents find out about the whole affair, there will be questions, and she has no wish of endangering anyone but herself. Still, she obtains the materials from them without trouble, a strap of leather here, a chain there, not so much at once to rouse suspicious. The harness she makes is rudimentary and rough, but once the dragon _has_ chosen her, she can take it to the Corps, and they'll outfit her with a proper one.

That's her hope, at least. Surely England does not have so many dragons that She can afford to turn down a capable young lady with a beast of her own. They had best not, or the two of them will have nowhere to go. Her parents won't be able to forgive her, no matter what happens.

It's four days after her own twentieth birthday when the egg begins to harden, and she tells her parents she'll be visiting friends in town to explain her absence, for surely she cannot leave the egg for even a moment, in case she should miss the fateful moment.

Obtaining food proves to be the greatest difficulty of them all; she knows the dragon must be fed as soon as it hatches, and be fed a great deal. Their estate is full of deer, but the newly hatched dragon will need to be given meat, and Clarke can't bribe anyone for so suspicious a request, nor does she feel capable of hunting anything herself.

In desperation, she steals a great side of beef from the butcher in the night, although she doesn't like to call it _stealing_. She does leave payment behind. She is as honest about it as she can be.

When the dragonet emerges, Clarke is ready for it. It's a lovely little thing, bright scales and brighter eyes, all fierce curiosity, with lovely dark markings like warpaint around its eyes. It's certainly a Longwing, a female, judging from the size. She fixes her attention on Clarke, intense and interested, and Clarke hopes she is interesting enough.

"Hello," she says. "I'm Clarke."

The dragonet blinks and cocks her head. "Clarke." Her voice, too, has a feminine quality.

"What's your name?"

She considers again. "I haven't a name."

"May I give you one?"

"Yes."

She had been planning to call it Alexander or Alexandra, a grand name, but she's so _small_ still. Clarke knows she'll get bigger, but Alexandra still feels like quite a lot, for such a little thing.

"Lexa," she says.

The dragonet nods. "Lexa. My name is Lexa." She blinks at Clarke. "I'm hungry," she says.

"May I put this on you first?" asks Clarke, holding out the harness. The dragonet shrugs, a surprisingly human gesture, and Clarke puts the makeshift harness on her quickly and then gives her the meat. It takes no time for Lexa to devour it, and Clarke has to smile. It's good, that she has such an appetite. She's healthy. She's _perfect_.

"I want to fly," Lexa announces, shaking her wings out.

"Of course," says Clarke, following the dragon out of the cave. "But take care and fly low. I don't want anyone to see you before I've told my father about you."

"Why not?"

"It will be complicated," Clarke says, carefully. This, she knows, is the easy part. The dragon hatching, the harnessing, that was simple. It will be much more difficult from now on.

But watching Lexa swooping through the air, joyful in her first flight, she can't regret any of the last three years.

She has a _dragon_.

*

She leaves Lexa only reluctantly, after the dragon has caught herself a few rabbits and settled in to sleep. Her next task is clear: her father must be told. She must be sent to the Aerial Corps for training, for she is a captain now. Harnessing a dragon gives her the rank, and it's her responsibility to take on the mantle. This is her duty. Her father's not going to stop her.

He's in his study; she knocks on the door and stands in front of him, formal, when he calls her in. "I've harnessed a dragon," she tells him, without preamble.

He stares at her for a long moment and then says, "I beg your pardon?"

"I found an egg in the caves. I researched it, I took care of it, and now it's hatched and I've harnessed the dragon. A Longwing. I've named her Lexa. We intend to join the Corps."

His expression is unreadable. "I cannot imagine the Corps wants you."

"Longwings will only take female captains," she tells him. "And the Corps can always use more of them. I don't think they'd turn me away."

He's quiet again and then says, "Where is the dragon, then?"

"Asleep." She pauses and adds, "She ate several rabbits, and will move on to deer soon enough."

"How long ago did you find the egg?" he asks.

Clarke has always gotten along well with her father, has always been able to trust him. So she tells him the truth. "Almost three years."

He nods, more to himself than to her. "I will make inquiries. You shouldn't imagine they'll welcome you with open arms, though. I believe aviators have years of training before they're allowed to harness their first beasts. You won't have an easy path."

"No," she agrees.

"Then you'd better show me your Lexa, and then your mother will have to be told." He looks at her, worry and heartache all over his face. "It's no life, Clarke."

She smiles at that. "I've read a lot about it. It's a quite a bit of life."

Things move quickly from there. Her mother takes the news much less in stride than her father, but the dragon is awake again, hungry and eager, and Clarke the only one capable of dealing with her. The bond between the dragon and the one who harnesses her is as strong and instantaneous as Clarke had heard, and even her mother must admit there's no chance Clarke can simply push the responsibility on someone else, even if she wanted to. 

Lexa finds the whole thing baffling.

"Of course you will be my captain," she says. "You are mine."

Clarke smiles a little and pets her side. "It's not what my parents had planned for me," she says. "As a lady, it was expected that I would marry and keep a house, not join the aviators and keep a dragon."

"But you want to keep me. I'm much better than a house."

"I am keeping you," Clarke says, stubborn. "I don't care what anyone says. If the Corps wants you, they'll have to take me too."

"Yes," Lexa agrees, butting Clarke with her head. She's growing, even after only a few days. Her wings are already expansive, and Clarke has started her practicing her aim with her acid. "I won't be going anywhere without you."

The admiral shows up the next day; he's tall and proper, not a hair out of place, clearly a gentleman before he joined the service. He greets Clarke's parents with familiarity and she'd wonder that she never knew they we acquainted with an admiral in the Corps, except that it isn't surprising at all. No one is proud to know an aviator.

"Admiral Marcus Kane, of Proserpina," he says, offering his hand. His dragon, a Regal Copper, is the largest thing she's ever seen. Lexa refuses to look cowed, staring the other dragon down with fierce determination in her golden eyes. Clarke follows her lead.

"Captain Clarke Griffin, of Lexa," she says. She _is_ a captain; he won't take that from them.

Admiral Kane looks amused. "A pleasure, Captain Griffin. I had been told you intended to keep her."

"I am not kept," says Lexa. "We are each other's."

"I wouldn't have harnessed her if I didn't intend to be her captain," Clarke adds.

"Ordinarily, I might try to talk you into giving her over to a more experienced aviator," he says. "But I grew up with your mother. I know better than to try that with you. I am here to bring the two of you to Scotland. You have a great deal of training to catch up on."

"We are at your service, sir," says Clarke.

He looks a little amused. "I'm not sure I believe you on that count. But I can't regret having another Longwing. I believe she's yet too small to bear you, so we'll take the both of you. Are you packed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you said your goodbyes?"

Harnessing a dragon was goodbye, all on its own. She said her goodbyes years ago, when she made up her mind to do this. And she's no child who will cry into her mother's skirts. "Yes, sir."

He looks less convinced by this, but he nods. "Then there's no reason to delay. The sooner we get the two of you training, the better."

Clarke takes a brief look at the grounds, at the home she grew up in, and then back at her dragon. "Yes," she says. "I'm ready."


	2. Chapter One: Training Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa arrive in Scotland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In keeping with Liz's dreams, we have some direct references to Temeraire characters in this chapter. They will not really be a major part of the story, I don't think.
> 
> (I am hedging my bets because I don't want to be like hahaha I lied in five chapters.)

Clarke has never had so many people staring at her as she does when she reaches the training grounds in Scotland; not even her coming out can compare, and the Queen was involved in that. She doesn't know if the other aviators had heard of her arrival, and think of her as an expected oddity, or had no idea that a young lady unassociated with the Corps had harnessed a Longwing and are baffled by the entire affair. Admiral Kane speaks to a few different people while Clarke settles Lexa into the clearing were she is to live, however, and by the time an energetic young woman of near to Clarke's age arrives, wearing the bottle-green jacket all aviators wear, she is sure the word about her has gone out.

"This is Lieutenant Octavia Blake, of Iskierka," he says, gesturing to the woman. "She will show you around the grounds. Blake, this is Captain Clarke Griffin, of Lexa."

"A pleasure to meet you," says Clarke, reminding herself not to curtsy. Blake offers her hand, and Clarke shakes it instead.

"You found a Longwing?" Blake asks, as soon as they've left the admiral's presence, all friendly eagerness. "Just _found_ it?"

"The egg was on my family estate, yes."

"And you made the harness yourself?"

"I'm sure it shows," she says, with a shade of self-deprecation.

"It did the job, that's all that matters." She grins. "Everyone's going to ask why you did it yourself, why you didn't tell the Corps and have us take it instead, but I know why."

"Do you?"

"I've always wanted a dragon of my own too."

Clarke smiles back at her, feeling like a co-conspirator. Women aren't supposed to want this kind of thing, but the two of them are going to have it. "How did you come to join the Corps?"

"I was born in the Corps. Bell says I could work the carabiner before I could walk. Mother had a Longwing."

"Had?" she asks, hoping it's not rude.

Blake's good cheer falters for the first time. "She died when I was six, her and Augustus both, in combat with a feral."

"My condolences," Clarke says, inadequately.

"It could be worse. I've still got Bell."

"Your--beau?" she hazards, unsure.

Blake laughs. "No, he's--" She looks around the courtyard they're walking through and waves to a man with olive skin and curly dark hair who's playing football with a group of boys. He grins and waves back, but the expression falters when he sees Clarke. The boys follow his gaze and spot them, and at once the whole lot of them forgets the game to run over instead. The man follows at a more leisurely pace. "My brother," Blake finishes, with fond amusement.

"You're the lady who found the Longwing!" says one of the children. From a distance, Clarke assumed they were all boys, with their identical short haircuts, but now that they're closer, she can tell two of them are girls. It stands to reason, of course, if Longwings refuse other captains, but it's still something of a shock.

"Are you really a lady?"

"Do you really have a Longwing?"

"What's its name?"

"Do you need help with it?"

Clarke has to smile. "I am a lady, or I was, I suppose. I'm a captain now. I do have a Longwing, her name is Lexa. She's only two weeks old."

"Where'd you get a harness?" asks Blake's brother. He's stern and unamused, but striking. Handsome, even. Clarke tries a smile on him and gets no response. "They aren't easy to come by."

"I made it myself."

"I'm amazed the dragon's willing to wear it. It must be ugly as anything."

Blake elbows him, hard. "Be _nice_ , Bell." She smiles at Clarke. "Excuse him, he's awful. Captain Griffin, my brother, Lieutenant Bellamy Blake. Currently unassigned."

"A pleasure," says Clarke, years of polite society kicking in automatically.

"My lady," says the other Blake, with a sardonic smile.

"Sir, if you please," she tells him, brisk. "I am a captain." She glances back at the female Blake. "Doesn't it get confusing, both of you being Lieutenant Blake?"

"Bell likes Blake the Elder and Blake the Younger," she says. "But you should just call me Octavia."

Blake the Elder gives his sister an unimpressed look. "Making friends, O?"

"I _like_ having friends." She turns back to Clarke. "Why don't you introduce us to your dragon?"

Blake the Elder doesn't join them, but everyone else is eager, excited, and they all follow Clarke to check in on Lexa. The dragon is pleased at the attention, if bemused by the children, and Octavia takes Clarke around to meet some of the ground crew, who are inspecting Lexa's harness. Clarke's surprised to find a woman serving among their number as well: Reyes, a foreigner, judging from her name and appearance.

"My mom didn't really want me," she says, her voice too light, daring Clarke to question her unconcern. "We left Spain with an English aviator when I was six and I didn't go back with her when she left, joined up instead since I was old enought. I could have tried to wait for a Longwing, but that could be years, and I like making shit more than I like taking orders anyway."

"Like you've ever taken an order in your life," says another one of the ground crew, Wick.

"Maybe if you ever said anything worth listening to, I'd think about it." Reyes grins at Clarke. "You were lucky, though. You really just found her?"

"Yes," she says. "It was--incredibly lucky."

"The harness isn't bad for a first try from an amateur," Reyes tells her, faint praise if she's ever heard it, but appreciated nonetheless. "But we'll get you a better one."

"I like Clarke's," says Lexa, loyal to a fault. "I don't need another one. You will not take it."

"Theirs will be more functional," says Clarke, petting her dragon's neck. "It will keep both of us safe when I ride, and your crew when you have one, which is the most important thing."

"Fine," says Lexa. "But I will keep the old harness, and wear it when we aren't flying."

Clarke wishes Octavia's brother had come along just so she could brag about how much her dragon loves the harness, but it's likely just as well he didn't. Lexa probably would have snapped at him, and Clarke would have been obliged to tell her to stop. She can't have her dragon snapping at everyone who's unpleasant to her, even if the idea holds some appeal.

"You can keep the old harness, of course," she tells Lexa. She glances at Reyes and Wick. "Can I help make the new one? She might like that."

Reyes shrugs. "When you don't have anything else to do. They're going to keep you busy, you know. You've got a lot to catch up on."

"I know," she says, rueful. Aviators start training when they're seven, and it's years before they become captains, if they ever get the chance. "Only when I haven't any other duties."

Reyes shakes her head. "I think you're going to burn out in the first month," she says, in a friendly way. "But I hope you don't."

*

She _is_ busy. Lexa is still too small to ride, but they have all kinds of things to learn, the both of them. Clarke hadn't expected her dragon to be behind as well, but the aviators start their beasts on learning formations in the shell, and now Lexa has to scramble to pick up things that are innate for her fellows. She does it without complaint and thoroughly, and Clarke is sure it's so no one can claim she did wrong by harnessing the dragon herself instead of bringing it to the Corps.

Of course, no one has said those exact words to her face, no one dares, but she can feel them following her around, feel them in the silence that falls over rooms when she enters. She feels them every time Blake the Elder looks at her, which is more than she'd like. Octavia left a week into Clarke's training, her dragon having been called on assignment, but all of the people she knows are Octavia's friends, and by extension her brother's friends as well. If she gave up interacting with him, she wouldn't have anyone to interact with at all.

"He'll get over it," Raven tells her. It's evening, and they're working on Lexa's harness under the dragon's watchful eye. She hadn't _asked_ about Blake the Elder, but she's just as glad that Raven brought him up. "Bellamy's just slow to warm up to people. Once you've been here a while and he sees this isn't just a whim for you, he'll stop being such a dick."

Clarke's still not entirely used to hearing such coarse language, especially from other women, but the sentiment makes her smile nonetheless. "You didn't need convincing it wasn't a whim?"

"I've seen you with the dragon," says Raven, smiling at Lexa. "Of course I didn't need convincing."

Their training training master is also a dragon, a rather famous one, in fact. She came across a number of references to Temeraire in her readings, although she hadn't been sure he was still active. She knew his captain had retired several years ago, and hadn't heard anything of his getting another, though he is young and wildly powerful. Apparently he prefers not serving active duty, at least for now. Admiral Laurence is still on the grounds, occasionally helping his dragon with the training maneuvers, but Temeraire for the most part operates alone, and always without any crew at all. Her first tentative steps toward peace with Blake the Elder come when she's asking Raven how this is possible, if the ability is unique to Temeraire, who is a rather rare Chinese breed, or if all dragons have the capacity to work on their own. After Raven fails to have any insights at all, Blake finally snaps, "If you're so interested, I've got plenty of books on the subject, my lady."

Clarke doesn't bother correcting his address, for once. "You do?" she asks, turning toward him with eager interest. "On Temeraire himself, or Celestial dragons generally, or--well, anything would be welcome. May I borrow one?"

He looks taken aback, like he wasn't expecting her to actually take him up on it. He was playing cards with Raven and Wick, but the hand has just finished, so he stands and says, "I wouldn't have mentioned it if I wasn't going to let you read them. Come on."

Part of her balks at the idea of following a man into parts unknown without a chaperone, but Blake already reminds her often enough of her birth, and she knows if she makes any protest, he'll be insufferable until the end of time. Besides, she's a captain, and he's a lieutenant, and there's nothing improper at all about the two of them going unescorted. As she so often tries to remind him, her most important rank here is not that of lady.

Blake leads her through the men's barracks without comment, and while they catch a few interested looks, no one says anything to them, and she suspects she'd get the same looks wherever she went, just like the whispers that follow her around.

His quarters are full of books, more than Clarke has ever seen outside of her father's library. They aren't just about dragons either, but every subject, many of them in Greek and Latin. It's a collection anyone could be proud of.

"How did you afford all these?" she asks, in wonder.

He crosses his arms. "I may not be a lord, my lady, but I'm paid good wages."

"And you spend all of it on books?" she asks, ignoring his hostility to run her fingers over the spines, delicate, careful. "I wonder that anyone could get this many."

"Not all of it. I trade and barter. Talking people out of their books is a skill of mine," he says. She glances back and he's watching her with an expression she hasn't seen on him before. When he catches her looking, he smoothes his features to careful neutrality and crosses the room to stand next to her, checking the books to her right. "This one's a good place to start," he says, pulling one down and handing it to her.

Clarke accepts the volume, opening it up and scanning the small, dense script with delight. It's much better than anything she found during her own research. "You're sure you don't mind if I borrow it?"

He shrugs, a little too uneven to seem truly unconcerned. "I know where you live if I don't get it back," he says.

"Thank you."

He huffs and makes a show of straightening some books that don't really need it. "There's more if you're still interested after that," he says, and it's still not friendly, but it feels like a start.

*

Clarke's never worked so hard in her life as she does in the next few months--has barely had to work at all, of course--and she falls into her uncomfortable military bed every night in a haze of exhaustion. Her entire body aches almost constantly, but this was what she wanted, and this is what she's going to do. So every morning, she wakes up with the dawn, and she starts it over again. Now that Lexa is large enough for them to start training in earnest, she falls into a routine, too strenuous to be called monotonous, but certainly predictable.

She wakes before dawn to exercise with Raven. Clarke was more active than most of her friends growing up, riding horses and running through the grounds of her father's estate with the servant boys, but climbing trees for fun as a child is nothing like being expected to climb up and down on a dragon, in the thick of combat. She has to develop her strength, and Raven, who works the forges and repairs harnesses while dragons are on the wing and all manner of other things, is happy to take on her training. A little too happy, even, judging from the delighted gleam in her eye, but Clarke is just grateful to have someone willing to take her on. And Raven understands where her body is weaker, which exercises will do the most good. Clarke's sure she couldn't do it without her.

Once she's done with Raven, she visits with Lexa, checking in on her dragon and making sure she's slept well and has no complaints before breakfast. She eats in the officer's mess with Green, the captain of an excitable young Winchester named Jasper, unless they're out on courier duty, Miller, an unassigned Lieutenant, and Blake the Elder. Raven and Wick aren't officers, more's the pity, but she likes Green a great deal, and even Miller, who tends to be quiet, is always good for a dry comment at just the right time. And things with Blake are, if not good, at least better. He still doesn't look at her or talk to her much, but he's not insulting, not often. He still calls her _my lady_ instead of _sir_ , or _captain_ , or even _Griffin_ , which is what most of the men use, but he loans her as many books as she can read, and he'll answer questions if she asks them. She's the only Longwing captain at the training grounds at present, and the three men are all dark-skinned, clear outsiders in a sea of full-blood Englishmen, and she thinks their joint inability to blend in makes them accept her among them more than any other merits she might have. Even Blake seems occasionally sympathetic, when he thinks she won't notice it.

The bulk of her time each day is spent in training, from the end of breakfast to dinner time. As a Longwing, Lexa will be the center of her own unit, Longwings being the only native English dragons to have any kind of special combative abilities. She and Clarke work on the use of her acid-spitting as well as their formations, and on the intricacies of leadership. They will have an incredible responsiblity, once they've finished training.

"Will they really listen to me?" she asks Raven one night. They'll begin training with the unassigned officers tomorrow, so Clarke can start selecting Lexa's crew, and she can't shake her nerves. Aside from Blake and Miller, she doesn't know any of the men who might be serving with her. Miller, at least, she doesn't expect any trouble from; Blake is as much of a mystery as the ones she doesn't know.

"Make them listen to you," says Raven, pragmatic, making Clarke smile. "Don't ladies give orders all the time?"

"I tried not to," says Clarke. "That wasn't the kind of lady I wished to be."

"Well, you wanted to be a captain, right?" asks Raven, and Clarke nods. "So stop worrying and be a captain. You're not the first woman they've had to obey, and you won't be the last. Longwings are always the leaders, and Longwings always have female captains. All the others made themselves heard, you will too."

She takes her current book, one on Temeraire and Admiral Laurence's experiences abroad, written by the dragon himself, and goes to sit with Lexa to read, as is her custom. Blake spots her on her way and, to her surprise, abandons a game of darts to jog over to her.

"Where are you taking my book?" he asks, with actual good cheer.

"I like to read with Lexa."

"That's where you go every night?" He grins at her, and she thinks she can smell alcohol on his breath, which might explain his uncharacteristic friendliness. "Not very sociable, my lady."

"This is the first night I've seen you socializing, _Lieutenant_ ," she says, stressing his proper title. Then she realizes she's revealed that she pays attention to his whereabouts and wishes she hadn't said anything at all. "Besides, my dragon is excellent company."

"Is she?"

She frowns. "You haven't met her, have you?"

"No."

"If you're following me anyway, you might as well, then," she says, and he surprises her again by making no arguments. They proceed in silence to Lexa, who regards Blake with her usual wariness.

"What's this one?" she asks, leaning down to him.

"Lieutenant Bellamy Blake," says Clarke. "You remember his sister, Octavia?"

"Oh, yes," says Lexa. "I liked her. She shouldn't have left."

"Lieutenant, this is Lexa," she says. She turns back to her dragon. "He's one of the crewmen we'll be trying out in the next few weeks. And he's the one who's loaning me the books," she adds, reluctant. Lexa doesn't care much for the scientific tomes on dragon biology, as Clarke does, but she loves stories about the war, and insists that Clarke read her the most exciting passages.

" _Oh_ ," she says, perking up, as Clarke knew she would. "I like the books."

Blake smiles, a real smile, one of the first she's seen not directed at his sister. "I'm glad I could help." He glances to Clarke. "Thank you for introducing me, my lady. I'll see you tomorrow."

"If you call me _my lady_ when we're in the air, I'm going to push you off the dragon," she tells him, in her sweetest, most proper voice.

He lets out a surprised laugh and grins at her. "You can certainly try."


	3. Chapter Two: Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke meets another captain and chooses her crew members.

To her not-so-great surprise, Blake the Elder is an excellent lieutenant. He follows orders he agrees quickly, efficiently, and without comment, and immediately tells her if he disagrees with anything she says and why. He's not particularly tactful about it, but he's usually _right_ and always has Lexa's safety and best interests in mind, which matters to Clarke a great deal more than tact. Miller's good too, but quieter, more interested in making sure things go smoothly than getting involved in command decisions. The three of them are a good team, efficient and capable, working together as if they've done it all their lives.

She'd be thrilled, except that once they're off the dragon, Blake goes back to being himself--sullen, arrogant, and disrespectful--and she loses all her confidence that he'd be a good choice of First Lieutenant, or even that he belongs on her crew. When the two of them are in the air, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, but as soon as their feet touch down, they're acquaintances thrown together by mutual friends, with no love lost between them. There are still moments, scattered and precious, where he smiles at her, unguarded, as if he's forgotten to dislike her, or can't help laughing at one of her muttered comments, and she tells herself those are the true Bellamy Blake, the one who thinks well of her, somewhere deep down. But she can't be sure.

"What does that matter?" Lexa asks, pragmatic. "He is a good crewman. Why should you care what he thinks of you?"

"What if he's just pretending to be a good crewman and as soon as I make him my First, he conspires to get me killed?" she mutters darkly. He wouldn't, of course, but he could be plotting _something_.

"I wouldn't let him," Lexa says, fierce. "I would kill him before he could."

Clarke smiles a little and pets her. "I wasn't serious. He wouldn't. You don't have to kill him."

Still, the next morning, Lexa turns to Blake with calculation in her eye. "You will not kill Clarke."

He looks alarmed. "No, I won't," he says, glancing back at Clarke with a confused frown.

Lexa nods, apparently satisfied with this. "Good. Get up, then."

She hopes he'll have forgotten it by the time they finish with their exercises, but of course he hasn't.

"So, I'm going to kill you?" he asks, jogging to catch up with her. She almost always leaves before he does, to see if he'll rush to join her. And he almost always does.

"Apparently you're not," she shoots back. "You said so yourself."

He gives her one of his amused looks at that, almost friendly, and she shrugs at him, defying him to say more.

He shakes his head, apparently satisfied. "Come on, my lady, I'm starving."

"I notice you haven't been calling me that when we're aloft," she says. "So you must not be so confident I can't push you over."

"You're a decent captain in the air," he says, gruff. It's the first compliment he's ever paid her, and she stares at him in shock. He's looking ahead, resolute. "On the ground you're still a lady."

She doesn't know quite what to make of that statement, but she chalks it up to Blake being Blake, and chooses to focus instead on the pride of being a _decent captain_. Coming from him, it means a lot.

Miller and Green already at their usual table when they arrive, but there are others with them too, men she doesn't know. Clarke tenses, but Green smiles at her, and Blake bumps her with his shoulder as he passes, just enough of a push to get her moving.

"This is Captain Collins, of Cosmos," says Green. "His first, Jaha, and second, Murphy. Captain Griffin, of Lexa."

"Right, the _lady_ ," says Murphy, rolling his eyes, so Clarke assumes he and Blake are great friends.

But Blake says, "Like your captain isn't a gentleman," with just enough of an edge that it feels like a challenge, and Murphy tsks and doesn't respond. Apparently, Blake's the only one allowed to comment on her place in the peerage.

Captain Collins looks vaguely embarrassed when she tilts her head at him. "My father is Lord Saxon," he explains.

"Oh!" she says, surprised. She had been trying to place him. "I remember you. From your brother's wedding. We played in the gardens during the reception. I'd forgotten you were in the corps."

He laughs, surprised. "That was you?" He grins over his shoulder at Wells. "I was eleven, she was, what--six?"

"Five."

"She was better at swordplay than I was. Have you seen my brother recently?"

The two of them get drawn into a somewhat private conversation; Collins hasn't seen his family in some time, and while he has letters, Clarke has actually met his young niece, and he's greedy for news of her. She doesn't realize how little attention she's paying to the rest of her friends until Blake gets up and says, pointedly, "Guess there's not much point in the rest of us being here."

"Oh, wait!" she says, standing too. "I need another book, I'll come with you." She says hasty goodbyes to Collins and the rest of the table and takes off after Blake, who's walking faster than he usually does. Trying to outpace her, she's sure.

"Don't leave in a hurry on my account, my lady," he says, pointed.

"I would hope if you had news of someone's family, you'd share it with him when asked," she shoots back. "That isn't ladylike, that's mere politeness. A skill I know you're lacking, but--" He lets out a small snort, in spite of himself. "It _was_ rude of us to ignore the rest of you," she admits. "I didn't mean to get so caught up."

"That's not you, that's Collins," Blake says, gruff. "He doesn't pay much attention to anyone but himself. Probably not your fault. He tends to have that effect."

She realizes it's true, over the next few days, can't help noticing the way he tends to take over conversations when he wants to, now that Blake has brought it up, but she likes Collins, all the same. He treats her politely, as a lady should be treated, almost unconsciously, proper manners coming back to him around her. She didn't think she missed it at all, but after so many changes, it's nice, like putting back on a favorite dress she hasn't worn in some time, and marveling that it still fits.

It's good timing, too, for having another Captain she can speak with. Green is a Captain, of course, but Jasper is a Winchester, too small to require a crew of his own, so Green never went through choosing one. Collins is a recently minted captain, only a year out of his own selection, and happy to answer any questions she has. She doesn't ask him the specifics--she doesn't think he and Blake are particularly close, and asking Collins about him feels like a betrayal, somehow--but she gets his general advice, and it's a comfort. She feels as if she has some firmer ground to stand on.

She doesn't think of impropriety at all, having grown used to spending time with men in ways that would have been scandalous in her previous life, but less than two weeks after she first meets Collins, Wick takes her aside.

"This isn't any of my business," he says, looking uncomfortable. She likes Wick well enough, but the two of them haven't spent much time alone. It's a surprise, to have him ask for private conversation. "But I wanted to talk to you about Collins."

"What about Collins?"

He runs his hand through his hair, looking somewhat miserable. "He and Raven have had an--understanding," he says, delicate. "For the last few years."

It takes a second, but Clarke takes his implication and blushes. It's more direct impropriety than she's gotten from anyone else, and Wick looks about as embarrassed by it as she feels. Once the embarrassment passes, though, curiosity sets in; she'd thought if Raven had an _understanding_ with anyone, it was Wick himself. "Oh?"

"Yeah. But Collins is a gentleman," Wick says. "And I think he still wants to make a proper marriage someday." His face darkens. "He can't have that with Raven."

Clarke swallows hard. Like many of the children who grew up in the corps, Raven is natural-born, and as obviously not a lady as anyone could be. Clarke may be a captain, but she's still a decent prospect, she supposes, for an aviator. A gentleman in the service looking for a wife couldn't dream of doing much better.

"Obviously it's your affair, not mine," he says. "But I thought you should know. It would hurt her, if something happened between the two of you. And I thought you probably didn't know that."

"I--" Clarke starts. "No, I didn't. And I never thought of that at all. That there might be anything between him and me."

Wick smiles at her. "I thought not. But I think Collins has, so--you should be aware."

It's horribly obvious too, after Wick points it out, just like when Blake said he tended to take over conversations. She had been thinking he treated her as gentlemen used to treat her, and the familiarity had made her forget that many of those gentlemen were thinking of courting. She distances herself from him as subtly as she can, avoiding being alone with him, putting Blake between them as often as possible. He doesn't dislike Collins, not more than he dislikes most people, but he tends to be stern, unsmiling, and impossible to flirt across, and he never leaves a conversation out of a desire to be polite and give her and Collins privacy, like Green will. He's very good for deterring suitors; she wishes she'd had him when she went to balls.

The downside is, of course, that he notices she's doing it.

"What happened?" he asks, once Collins has given up his attempt to get her to himself after dinner.

"What?" she asks. He looks unimpressed by her play at ignorance, and she sighs. "Wick pointed out that he was--making advances."

Blake snorts. "Wick had to point it out?"

"I didn't think anyone would! I'm an aviator, not a nubile young maiden."

"You can be both," he says, but it's mild, almost kind.

"I don't want to be," she says, but some wistfulness escapes. He tilts his head at her, and she wonders why she's always so unable to keep her mouth shut when he does that. "I do like children."

"Oh, you'll have children," Blake says, with somewhat alarming certainty. "Captains always have children. Dragons do better if they're passed down along family lines. You'd better have children until you have a girl, someone who can take Lexa after you die or retire. It's one of your duties." 

"But--" She feels very young and foolish. "No one will want to marry me."

"Collins probably would," he says, grudging. "Or someone else. There are other gentlemen in the Corps, and I'm sure not all men mind having a wife who's always on the move. Or you don't have to marry. It's not a requirement for having children."

He's natural-born too, she remembers suddenly; Octavia said all they knew of his father was that he was a sailor their mother met in the Philippines. He doesn't think of marriage like she does.

"And how many children do you have?" she snaps, feeling embarrassed by the entire conversation.

"None," he says, easy. "I don't have a dragon." He sobers, looking serious. "If Collins bothers you again, just come and find me."

The unexpected offer snaps her out of her sullen embarrassment, and she stares at him with real surprise. "Thank you," she says.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Sure. Need another book?"

"No, but I should go see Lexa."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Captain," he says, with a lazy salute. It's loose and clearly a little sarcastic, but it's enough of a shock that she stares at him for a moment, mouth agape, before she collects herself and goes down to see her dragon.

Apparently, not wishing to marry Captain Finn Collins is enough to convince him she's a decent captain on the ground as well.

*

Octavia returns a week before Clarke has to pick her crew, and she offers up a prayer of thanks for her good fortune. After her conversations with Wick and Blake the Elder, she doesn't feel quite safe soliciting Collins for his opinions, and she didn't know whom else she could ask. She was on the verge of getting Raven's opinions on Blake's suitability, but she didn't think Raven would have much by way of insight. And it would have been embarrassing in a way it isn't with Octavia.

She drags Octavia aside her first night back and says, "Should I ask your brother to be my First Lieutenant?"

"Of course you should," Octavia replies, without hesitation. "Bell's the best there is. Why wouldn't you?"

"I don't know if he hates me," she says, and feels like a silly child for admitting it. But Octavia simply laughs.

"Of course he doesn't hate you. He's just stupid." Clarke raises her eyebrows, and Octavia sighs. "You have a Longwing," she says, as if this explains everything. It doesn't, of course, so she continues, "He thinks that if you'd given her to the Corps, _I'd_ have a Longwing. It's hard for female aviators to get the timing right. He thinks that was my chance, and you took it from me."

Clarke swallows hard. Of course he would have thought that. Octavia probably thinks the same thing. She feels stupid for not realizing. "You've never seemed upset," she says, careful. 

"I'm not." She grins. "Obviously, I want my own dragon, but I can't blame you for taking the chance when you had it. Bell is just--" She huffs, trying to find words. "Our mother didn't know what to do with him. She had him because she needed to have a daughter, and then he turned out to be a son, and she didn't need a son."

"That's awful," Clarke says, before she can help it. She shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but it sounds unspeakably cruel. She's seen plenty of daughters who bear the burden of disappointing their parents by not being sons; she can't imagine the reverse is any more enjoyable.

Octavia shrugs, looking a little amused at her horror. "Yes. It's true, though. So when I came along, she told him I was--the priority, I suppose. I was going to grow up and take the dragon, and that was the most important thing. Bell's always known that."

"And then she and the dragon died," Clarke supplies, soft.

"Bell was there when it happened. He was a runner on Augustus. Our mother made sure he got off safely, but she went down with the dragon. I hadn't even joined the Corps yet, I wasn't old enough. We thought about leaving, but we didn't know what else we'd do, so he stayed and I enlisted too, but--it was hard. Our whole lives had been about Augustus. We were only born because of Augustus, and then he was gone. I finally got a good place, but Bell's never found the right assignment. He was on Iskierka with me for a while, but the two of them--" she makes a face. "They don't get along."

"So now he's unassigned, and neither of you has any prospects of a dragon of your own."

"No, I do," Octavia says, with fond exasperation. "That's why it's so stupid he wants to be mad at you! Captain Granby doesn't have any children, he's trying to talk into Iskierka into taking me as her captain once he's ready to leave. She hates Bell, but she loves me." She smiles. "She might hate Bell _because_ she loves me. All dragons are bad at sharing, but she might be the worst."

Clarke has to laugh. "I haven't met her yet, but I've read some--interesting accounts."

"Oh, that's another thing!" Octavia says, apparently remembering. "Of course he likes you, he loans you books. He hates loaning his books away. If he disliked you, he never would have let you near them."

"So you think if I ask him, he'll accept?"

"If he doesn't, tell me, and I'll make him," she says firmly. "He'd be an idiot to say no, but he's been an idiot before."

Clarke laughs. "I'm glad you're back. We've missed you."

"I am too," she says. "Now, come on, I believe Wick has some extra rum he can't wait to get rid of."

She drinks more of the rum than she perhaps should, and when she's feeling a pleasant tingling in her arms, she sits down next to Blake the Elder. He gives her a smile, so he's probably had a good deal to drink too.

"You're going to be my First, aren't you?"

"I can't tell if you're asking me or resigning yourself to it," he says.

"Asking you. I don't want you to turn me down. It would be very embarrassing."

"I won't." He looks down at her. "Are you sure?"

"You're the best. Aside from Miller, but I think Miller would rather you were my First."

"He just doesn't like getting between us when we fight."

"I don't blame him."

He laughs. "No, I don't either." He smiles down at his hands, shy even in the darkness. "I'll say yes," he says, soft, and she takes the bottle of rum from him and takes a long drink.

"Huzzah," she says.

She's still nervous when she names her crew the next week, but Blake, Miller, and all the rest accept, Temeraire nods his approval, and it's done. She has her crew, exactly the one she wanted.

"Am I going to regret this?" she asks Blake. They're sitting together watching the dragons feed, although she couldn't say why, not exactly. It feels like a momentous occasion to her. Maybe it does to him too.

"No more than harnessing her in the first place," Blake tells her. He bites his lip, looking over at Lexa, who's digging into her supper with gusto. "Thanks. For choosing me. I know I haven't always been--fair to you."

"Did your sister tell you to say that?"

"Yes," he says, with a small smile. "But I already knew I should."

"I probably wouldn't have been fair either, in your place. I must have seemed very naive, coming in here with my homemade harness and no real idea what I was doing with a dragon."

"No," he says. "Not naive. Determined." He rubs the back of his neck. "Anyway. I'm looking forward to serving with the two of you. It should be--interesting."

"Interesting," she agrees, and when he stands and offers her a hand up, she takes it, and they walk back to the mess hall together.


	4. Chapter Three: Formation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise this is ever going to have a real, serious plot, but I can promise I love fluff. I know this is a shock to everyone.

"You know we're supposed to be hitting enemy dragons, not our dragons, right?" Blake remarks. Clarke turns her head back to look at him and he's smiling, wide and amused, no signs of irritation in the least. He looks happy just to be in the air, and she knows she must too. As an acid-spitter, Lexa is the center of her formation, but her aim isn't quite good enough to use in formation yet. They've started coming out in the evening to practice, and while it's certainly improving, it still needs work. But it's not a hardship, far from it. Clarke loves being up on Lexa, feels like she's at her best in flight, but with the whole crew aboard and Temeraire watching, it's serious and focused, a matter of life and death even in training.

With just Blake, it's really quite fun.

"You know I can kill you with my dragon, right?" she grumbles.

He laughs. "Your dragon likes me."

"She likes me better."

"You'd have to find another lieutenant, and you hated everyone else."

"I didn't hate all of them. Sterling was fine. Miller can be my First, Jackson Second, and Sterling Third. And you'll be eaten."

"You're right, that would work."

She grins at him, and he grins back. She thought there would be lingering strangeness between them, or he'd continue to keep his distance off the dragon, but whatever Octavia said to him must have gotten through, because he started being friendly as soon as she chose him as her First, and the friendliness has quickly turned into camaraderie and genuine trust. "Are you ready to try again?" she asks Lexa.

"Yes, I was just waiting for the two of you to be finished. I don't want any new lieutenants," she adds. "I will keep Blake."

"Like I said, your dragon likes me," says Blake. "You're doing a lot better," he continues, to Lexa. "You just need to focus on how the acid will get where it's going, not where that it." He's served on two Longwings before this, his mother's and one of their most famous, Excidium, under Captain Roland. And he's read a lot about them, preparing against the eventuality that Octavia would get one of her own, she assumes.

Clarke hasn't mentioned her conversation with his sister to him, and she's not sure she ever will. She understands why he was frustrated with her, but they've moved past that, and she doesn't owe him an apology. Mostly, she's grateful she can now benefit from his knowledge. She doesn't want to make things difficult between them by broaching a subject she doesn't know how to deal with.

"How can I think about how it will go without thinking about where it will go?" Lexa is asking Blake, impatient.

Blake clucks his tongue, thoughtful. "When you're shooting at something close, right in front of you, that's fine," he says. "It goes in a straight line, right? But the longer it goes, the less straight it flies. It's--" He looks over at Clarke. "Have you taught her any physics?"

"How would and why would I teach her physics? I barely know anything about it myself."

"What do they teach ladies?" he teases, shaking his head. 

"I bet I can curtsy better than you can."

"Just try hitting that farthest target again," Blake says, ignoring her, attention on Lexa again. "As low down as you can."

Lexa lets out a burst of acid; it hits the dirt well before its mark. She makes a frustrated sound. "How should I get it there other than aiming at it?" she asks.

Blake turns to Clarke, with a look of resigned amusement. "Do the two of you want to learn physics?" he asks.

Clarke has to laugh. "During all our free time, you mean?"

He smiles, rueful, ducking his head. "Exactly."

But they manage nonetheless. Clarke does nothing but eat, sleep, and train for months; with no pressing military engagements, there's ample time for her and the crew to become comfortable with all their maneuvers, and Temeraire seems determined to take full advantage of it. A Longwing is far too valuable to send into the field before she's ready.

Collins is put into their formation, once she and Blake have gotten the acid under control, which Clarke can't help feeling a little strange about. She does still like him well enough, but Blake is even less friendly toward him than he used to be, which is saying something, considering he's never been a particularly warm and welcoming sort. She worries about their harmony in battle, when they're awkward outside of it.

For better or worse, though, Collins doesn't seem to have noticed the change, and continues on, blithely unaware of Blake's coldness. It was a little funny, really, seeing the two of them, Blake's irritated silence and Collins' oblivious good cheer.

It does occur to her to wonder if Blake might be jealous, if only because she feels foolish for having missed so many obvious social cues earlier. It seems completely absurd, though--he has no cause to be jealous of her company, for she spends more time with him than anyone, and from what she's heard him say, she doesn't think he has any plans to ever marry himself, which is all Collins wants from her. She thinks it's more likely he's protective, worried Collins is making demands on her time to try to win her over despite her lack of interest.

He probably thinks of her as he thinks of his sister, someone to be watched over, not courted. Not that she minds, of course. She doesn't want to be courted, nor is she looking for the kind of understanding Raven has with Collins with anyone. She has much more important things to do.

They have their first few skirmishes a few weeks after the formation is finalized; feral dragons in Britain are less common since Temeraire began advocating for dragon rights and trying to reason with them, but, to his frustration, even after long and fruitful discourse, some of the ferals still decide they'd rather be enemies to the Corps over allies, and they conduct raids every now and then. The first battle is terrifying less because of the threat, which is minor and easily overcome, than because it's her first command, and she has to manage not only her own crew but the entire formation. But they get through it with minor injuries and no loss of life on either side, and even capture of one dragon for the breeding grounds, and it's easier after that, once she has her feet under her.

The first time a battle goes wrong is two months in, and it's horrible.

There's a group of pirates working off the coast, and with other formations engaged, Clarke and her company are asked to look into it. It's supposed to be easy, routine, something the navy could handle, if they had the ships to spare.

But the pirates have a group of small dragons, an unfamiliar breed a little smaller than Winchesters, who work without captains. None of the reports she received made any mention of them, and they're caught completely off their guard. The small dragons are fast and ruthless, zipping through the formation like lightning, causing havoc. Lexa can't use her acid, unable to aim and afraid of hitting her own allies, and they lose two crewmen before she and Blake come up with a plan and turn the battle around. Even after that, there are more injuries, and losses on the other dragons in their formation as well. Blake gets a horrible gash on his arm and onto his side before she manages to shoot the attacker off him, and even though they recover some of the men who fell into the water, it feels like her first failure, like maybe everyone was right, and she shouldn't have done this.

"No one would have known what to do about that," Octavia assures her. They're waiting outside while the doctors patch Blake the Elder up; Clarke did her best to stanch the bleeding on the way, and he assured her it wasn't so deep, but she's still anxious. "It wasn't your fault."

"If I'd--" she starts, but she can't come up with anything to say. None of them had been prepared, and it was the surprise that got them as much as anything. She isn't convinced anyone else would have done better, but _she's_ the one who did badly.

"Stop worrying," says Blake, coming out of the infirmary. His arm is bandaged tight and he's moving a little unsteadily on his feet, but there's color in his cheek and his voice is strong enough. Clarke almost rushes over to him with Octavia, but holds herself back and lets his sister do the fretting for both of them. "We did the best we could."

"I know," she says.

"Lexa?"

"A little scratched, but nothing serious. She told me to keep an eye on you. I think she's feeling territorial after losing Hawkins."

Blake nods. "That's normal. Come on, we should go see her."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Should you be walking that far?"

He rolls his eyes. "They got my arm, not my legs, my lady." It's the first time he's called her that in months, and she can't hold back a wince. It feels like an attack, especially when she was _worried_. "I'm fine," he says, face softening at her expression. "Really. Lexa will do better if she sees me."

He's right, she knows. "Fine. But you're going to be careful. I can't carry you back if you bleed out."

"Lexa could," he points out. "Are you coming?" he asks Octavia.

She frowns. "Not all the way. We're heading out again tonight. Granby waited just so I could make sure you were all right, but we've got a new assignment. I'll walk down with you, but I have to go to Iskierka."

Blake nods, puts his arm around her and squeezes. "Be careful."

"Always am."

They walk most of the way in silence, until Octavia has to leave them. She ducks out from under her brother's arm and pushes him toward Clarke. "Lean on her," she says, firm. "Don't try and tell me you don't need the support, you're tired and hurt."

Blake raises his eyebrows at Clarke, a question, and she moves in against his uninjured side, taking some of his weight. She's never been this close to a man who isn't a father, having no brothers of her own, and the feel of him is somewhat overwhelming, warm and solid, with a smell like sweat and earth and wood smoke. He puts his arm over her shoulders, and she can feel him trembling a little, still hurt. She squeezes him a little, reflexive and worried, below the bandage.

"Be safe, O," says Blake, and Clarke flushes. She'd almost forgotten Octavia was here.

"Be safe," she echoes, and Octavia smiles.

"You as well," she says, and leaves.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Clarke asks, helping Bellamy down to Lexa.

"I'm fine," he says, squeezing her shoulders. "I'm just tired, honestly. It was a long day. But I want to check on her too."

Clarke smiles a little, exasperated, mused in spite of herself. "She's worried about you, you're worried about her, I'm worried about the both of you. This is how it's going to be from now on, isn't it? The three of us worrying over each all the time."

"Not if we don't get hurt," he says. "You're not allowed to get hurt," he adds. "Dragons don't do well with their captains getting hurt."

"I'll try my best."

"Do better than that," he says, gruff, and she smiles again.

Lexa is more annoyed than injured; she has a doctor checking her out, but she's asking after the crew, and Blake in particular. He disentangles himself from Clarke and walks over to the dragon unsupported, trying to show off strength he doesn't have. Lexa leans in to inspect him, and he pets her. It makes something in Clarke twist strangely, watching the two of them, the obvious affection Blake has for Lexa complimenting Lexa's possessiveness over him. They're so important to her, and to each other too. It's a lot to take in, after a difficult day.

"And Clarke is unharmed," Lexa says, once she's satisfied with her inspection of Blake.

"Barely even dirty," Clarke promises her. "No need to worry." She strokes Lexa's snout. "And Blake will be good as new in no time."

"Good," she says. "I did mean it. I will not have him die."

"No," Clarke agrees. "We won't have that."

On their way back to the barracks, she asks, "When you're better, can we work on shooting? I hesitated today. I'm not comfortable with it yet, but I need to be. I don't want to hesitate again."

Part of her expects him to point out the obvious: anyone could teach her shooting. It's not like the acid, where he had some particular background. But he doesn't. He says, "If you just need someone to watch and tell you what to do, I can do that tomorrow. No need to wait."

"You wouldn't make it back to your rooms without my shoulder under you," she points out. "It's not _pressing_ , we can--"

He squeezes her shoulder, and the firm grip of his hand stops her train of thought entirely. "I'm tired, and I lost a great deal of blood. I'll be standing on my own after a night of sleep and a good meal, don't fret."

"If you hurt yourself further trying to help my aim, I'll have Lexa _and_ your sister to answer to," she says, dry. "And answering to just one of them sounds frightening enough."

Blake laughs. "You can see me tomorrow and judge for yourself. But I don't want to hurt myself anymore than you want to see me hurt. I'll be careful." He smiles at her, the way she imagines he smiles at Octavia when she worries over him. It shouldn't make her heart speed up, not when he's being _fraternal_. "Still, I appreciate your concern, Captain Griffin. I'll see you in the morning."

He is much improved after rest and food; she makes him wait one more day before she'll let him teach her shooting, but even she admits it's only her paranoia, and he really is well enough to be telling her how to stand and aim.

It goes like that for a few months. Clarke continue to study the kind of basic combat she would have know if she'd grown up an aviator and they're sent out as needed, to deal with ferals and pirates and whatever else crops up. It's still difficult, but when she gets letters from her father, news from her former life, all she can feel is a profound gratitude that she gets to do this now, that she's no longer worrying about her marriage prospects and the household she'll keep someday.

She gets hurt for the first time in the stupidest possible way, almost three months after Blake's injury; an enemy shot hits the line keeping her secured to Lexa's harness, untethering her, and she actually _falls off the dragon_.

She vaguely hears Blake yell, " _Clarke_!" and the Lexa's roar of horror, sees the talons trying to catch her, missing, and then she hits something, hard, and blacks out.

When she wakes up again, her body is one, endless hurt, and there's someone's hand, stroking back her hair. It's about the only thing that doesn't feel terrible, and she wants to lean into it, but her neck aches. 

"Fuck," she hears someone say, soft and a little desperate. "Come on." It's Blake, she realizes, slowly. It feels like she's waking up from a sleep that was somehow the best and worst of her life.

"You called me Clarke," she says, voice thick in her mouth, like dry molasses. Her eyes don't quite want to open yet, but she forces them to. He looks nearly frantic. "I heard you."

"Fuck," he says again, but it's relieved this time, and he's beaming suddenly, bright and beautiful. "Thank god. I thought--fuck. She's awake, Lexa!"

Clarke twitches her hand, manages to stroke the dragon's, just a little. She doesn't think she can make her voice loud enough for her to hear. "You did, didn't you?"

"What?" he asks, turning back to her. His hand is still in her hair, and he tucks some stray strands that escaped from her braid back behind her ear.

"You called me Clarke."

"Sorry," he says, with no contrition at all. "I was worried."

"I get to call you Bellamy now." Most of their other friends already call him by his Christian name, and she's been trying to work out how to start doing it herself without it seeming strange. 

He lets out a surprised bark of laughter. "I thought you were _dead_ ," he tells her. "You can call me whatever you'd like."

Blake-- _Bellamy_ \--gets her sitting, checks her over for injury with careful hands. She must be bruised everywhere, but there's nothing broken, from what he can tell. He even gets her standing, even if she is leaning heavily against him. The world swims, and she nearly falls, but he's got a firm hold on her, and she's strapped in to the harness again, on one of the spare lines.

"Careful," he says, voice soft. His thumb rubs against her side, almost absent. He still doesn't touch her very often, and it still sends thrills up and down her side, everywhere they're in contact.

She is stupid about him, even when she hasn't injured herself. She's been hoping it will stop.

"I'm fine," she says. "Can we get close enough I can talk to Lexa? I can't raise my voice very much, but--"

"It'll make her feel better," Bellamy finishes. "We'll get you there." He flashes her a grin. "I can't believe you _fell off the dragon_." But he squeezes her tighter, worry seeping into his teasing tone. "I told you to try not to get hurt."

"I'll be fine," she says. "Bruised, not broken." He helps her up to high enough on the harness that the dragon can hear her, and Clarke strokes the scales on her neck. "I'm fine," she says. "I feel like an idiot, but I'm fine."

"You _fell_ ," says Lexa, harsh.

"Bellamy's already reminded me," she says, glancing up at him.

"You landed on another dragon."

"I assumed as much."

"I couldn't catch you," she says, softer, and Clarke frowns.

"Of course you couldn't, you didn't know. You--" She strokes Lexa's neck, feels horribly inadequate to this. She's the one who did something wrong, and her dragon is the one blaming herself. "You didn't do anything wrong, Lexa."

"If Cosmos hadn't been there, you would be dead." Bellamy's hand spasms against her, tightening again, as if he's afraid she'll fall just from the reminder. "You can't be _dead_."

"It won't happen again," she says, firm. "We'll make sure of that."

Lexa flies back ahead of the rest of the formation, recklessly quickly, and once they're on the ground Miller goes to find a doctor to come down to them, since Lexa refuses to let Clarke leave her. Bellamy stays to make sure Clarke doesn't fall asleep--he's seen enough head injuries to know that's dangerous--which means he settles in next to her, the both of them leaning against Lexa, and occasionally pokes her, trying to find a place to do it that isn't too bruised. 

"You're enjoying this, aren't you," she grumbles.

He surprises her by responding, all seriousness, "No, Clarke. I'm not enjoying anything about you being hurt."

It's the first time he's called her by her name since she fell and it makes her heart race. She has to _stop_ being foolish over him. He's her first lieutenant, not some handsome young man she met at a ball.

"It won't happen again."

He sighs, runs his hand through the tangle of his hair. "It will. It's dangerous, being on a dragon. Stupid things go wrong all the time."

Lexa cranes her long neck around, coming in to look at Bellamy. "I don't like stupid things going wrong."

"Neither do I," he says. "And neither does Clarke." He shoots her a grin. "As long as you don't _fall off_ \--"

She shoves him, which hurts her more than it hurts him, she's sure. He's very solid, and her entire body is still an agony of aches. All she manages to do is jostle her shoulder.

"You'll never let me forget this, will you?"

"No, I won't. We'll be old and gray and about to retire, and I'll be telling your granddaughter about the time her grandmother fell off the dragon, and how she's never allowed to do anything so stupid."

Clarke laughs, because she can imagine just that, Bellamy surrounded by a gaggle of children, telling them an exaggerated version of the accident, far enough away from the fear that there won't be a shadow of worry behind his eyes when he talks about it. He's good with children.

And if the children she envisions are dark with black curls, instead of fair with light ones, she can blame it on her injury. She had a bad fall. She's clearly not in altogether her right mind.

"I'm sure she never will," she assures him, and leans against her dragon and her first lieutenant and waits for the doctor to arrive.


	5. Chapter Four: Intimate Relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be fooled by the title, still no sex yet. They're working on it.

Apparently, Clarke injured two of her ribs in the fall, and the doctor tells her she isn't allowed to fly for at least three weeks, maybe even longer. She's annoyed about it, even though she's in enough pain for the first few days that it wouldn't be possible for her to do anything so strenuous as walking down to Lexa, let alone riding on her.

By the end of the first week, she's feeling coddled.

"If I wasn't a lady--" she fumes to Bellamy, who's stopped by to bring her books. "Well, I'm sure they would have cleared me at once."

"It has nothing to do with your being a lady," he says. He still looks a little uncomfortable being in her rooms, but Raven and Octavia have their own responsibilities during the day; with Lexa grounded, Bellamy has the most leisure time, and she's grateful to him for coming to see her as often as he does. "It's because you're a captain in peacetime." He grins, teasing. "And because you can barely move."

"I can move," she says, darkly, even though she does still hurt a great deal. "So, if it was you, what would we be doing?"

"Going on with another lieutenant until I was well enough to come back," says Bellamy. "Lexa won't fly with another captain, and there's no reason to put you back on patrols before you're better, when your being seriously hurt would have such terrible consequences. Lose the captain, lose the dragon, Griffin. You're on bed rest because you're important, not because you're weak."

"Oh," she says, feeling the rage drain out of her. "When you put it like that."

"When I'm _right_ , you mean?" She throws a wadded up ball of paper at him, and he ducks out of the way, laughing. "Your crew isn't thinking poorly of you, I promise. Three weeks with relaxed duties, and no worries about our futures, because our captain is in no danger."

"It's wonderful for you, I'm the one who's trapped in her rooms feeling miserable."

"It's wonderful for them," Bellamy points out. "I'm trapped in here with you."

"You can leave any time you want."

"And I'll hear tomorrow about how miserable and lonely you were," he says, sitting down in one of her chairs and putting his feet up. "Much easier for me to just spend the afternoon keeping you company."

Clarke smiles into her sketchbook. "Thank you."

"I was just going to read until I went to visit Lexa anyway," he says. "Might as well do it here instead."

"How is she?" Clarke asks. "I tried to go down yesterday, but Raven told me I wasn't allowed."

"I've assured her you're well and that she doesn't need to fly up here to check on you. The letter you wrote her helped. And I've promised I'll bring you down as soon as I'm sure it won't damage you further."

"I should have just stayed down there with her."

"It's too cold," he grumbles. "You'd catch something sleeping outside. And you need to be sleeping in a bed, not on the ground."

"You're such a mother hen."

"Be quiet and go back to--whatever you're doing."

"I'm sketching. I'm not musical, so this was what I learned to keep my hands busy. There are only so many acceptable accomplishments for ladies to have."

"I was thinking about that, actually," he remarks. She raises her eyebrows at him, and he says, "I know what happens when a gentleman joins the service--his family might not be pleased, but it's still a mostly respectable profession. But there's no way your family told anyone where you are. If nothing else, I would have read about the scandal in the papers. Female aviators are still a secret, so far as I know."

Clarke sighs. "I believe my mother said that I moved to the continent with her sister. She's also an embarrassment to the family, so it's fitting."

He laughs. "What did she do?"

"She didn't wish to marry because she prefers the company of women," Clarke says, shrugging. "At least, I think that's what she did. Of course my mother never said so in as many words, but I meet her once, a few years ago, and we had a veiled discussion about it. She gave me some good advice, from what I could understand through all the polite euphemisms."

"Ah," says Bellamy, frowning a little. He clears his throat. "Advice on--" He pauses, reconsiders. "Do you also prefer the company of women?"

He sounds curious, but not scandalized. Aviators tend to be liberal, Clarke's found. "I don't prefer it," she says carefully. She avoids his eyes, embarrassed to be speaking of such things with him. But the last thing she wants him to think is that she isn't interested in men. "But I--enjoy both." She turns red. "Not that I've enjoyed either, but--"

He's laughing, but not unkindly. "Don't worry, I wasn't thinking poorly of you. And no one would bat an eye if you had--" He looks her up and down and _smirks_ , and Clarke forgets how to breathe for a second. " _Enjoyed_ someone."

Bellamy is a few years older than she is, and has been an aviator all his life. He's never planned to marry, and has no reason to wait on such things. She's sure he's been with many women, probably even some women she knows. He has no reason to be embarrassed about such things.

"I'm currently incapable of enjoying anything," she says, going for a light tone. "As you've pointed out, I shouldn't be doing anything strenuous, and I think even lying back and thinking of England would be too much, in my current state."

"For your reference, anyone who tells you to lie back and think of England is not someone you should bother with."

They lapse into silence, but Clarke is still thinking about it. She hasn't discussed her romantic prospects with anyone but Bellamy, and, she supposes, Wick, which should probably be strange. She could ask Octavia or Raven, but--well, she does spend more time with Bellamy than either of them. Besides, Octavia is always coming and going, so it's difficult to find time with her, and she doesn't want to ask Raven, because Raven might be in love with Collins, and Collins will never marry her. Clarke doesn't want to dredge up uncomfortable things.

"Is it common?" she asks, at long last.

"Hm?" asks Bellamy, looking up from his book.

"The, um. Wick said Raven and Collins have an understanding, is that--common? Here."

He shrugs. "I couldn't say in general. Most people keep it quiet." He considers. "For what it's worth, I don't think Raven and Collins have an understanding anymore. So if that was what was holding you back--"

"No, not at all." She wets her lips. "Why do you think that?"

There's a pause, but he shifts and says, "A few weeks before you got here, she dragged me off with her and said she needed to get him out of her system," he says. He's a little red, which is surprising. He never seemed embarrassed to talk about these things before. "I didn't ask for details, but as far as I know, that was the end of it with the two of them."

"Oh." She wets her lips, leans forward in her chair even though it hurts. "Do _you_ do that often?"

He's even redder. "That is not a very proper question, my lady," he says.

"I'm not a very good lady."

"Not often," he finally says. "But sometimes, yes. More often when I was younger."

"Because you're so very old now," she teases.

"You're making me regret coming to visit you." He pauses and then says, "If I promise to take you down to Lexa tomorrow, can we stop talking about this?"

"You brought it up."

"Clearly I didn't think it through," he mutters.

"You'll really bring me down to Lexa?"

"If I have to carry you. I'd be getting irritable myself, if I were stuck here." He must have regained his composure, because he grins at her, teasing. "And you're usually plenty irritable to begin with."

"As if you're not," Clarke says, grinning back, and they move on from the conversation.

That night, though, when Raven comes to visit, she says, "Bellamy said I should talk to you about sex."

"Did he?" Clarke asks, dubious.

"I think so. He was pretty awkward about it, it was hard to figure out what he was trying to say." She considers Clarke. "Are the two of you--" She waves her hand vaguely.

"No!" Raven raises her eyebrows, and Clarke blushes. "Obviously he's very--he's my First and he's a very good friend and--"

"Uh huh," says Raven, flopping down on Clarke's bed, casual. It should be strange to have someone else in her space like that, but Clarke mostly thinks this must be what it would be like to have a sister, and she always wanted one. "Does he know?"

"I hope not."

Raven snorts. "Because you can't marry him?"

"I could," Clarke protests. "It would be uncomfortable if he knew. I wouldn't want it to change anything between us. We're finally friends, good friends. I don't want him to become surly and irritable again."

"You'd marry him?" Raven asks, giving her a calculating look.

"I don't see why we're talking about _this_ ," says Clarke, annoyed. "I'm not marrying anyone. We were just talking. I'm not--I have much more important things to do than worry about marriage." She rubs her face. "When am I allowed to be back on my dragon? That makes sense."

"Yeah, I think I see what happened here," Raven says. "You two are ridiculous. When _do_ you get back on the dragon?"

"Two more weeks, at least," says Clarke. She sighs. "At least Bellamy says he'll start bringing me back to see her. I hate being stuck inside."

"God forbid you get some rest after _falling off a dragon_ ," Raven teases.

"No one's ever going to let me forget," she grumbles.

*

The third week, she's walking on her own without much support from Bellamy, so she says, "As long as I'm not going anywhere else, I should probably go visit my parents."

He raises his eyebrows. "The ones who said you're on the continent, visiting your embarrassment of an aunt?"

"I won't have another chance like this for who knows how long, and the doctor said I could take Lexa, so long as I was very careful. And my father does miss me. He and I write often."

"Hm," Bellamy says, noncommittal. "And your mother?"

"He's been passing messages," she says. "We'll probably be polite and overly formal with each other." She tucks her hair back behind her ear. "Do you want to come with us?"

"If you want to bring an aviator home, you'd be better off with Collins. He knows how to behave on a lord's estate."

There's something odd in his tone, and Clarke frowns. "I don't want to bring an aviator home," she says. This should be obvious. "I think it's probably best that I don't go alone, and you're my First. And my best friend. And my father will be happy to meet you."

He looks down at her with some alarm. "I--" He coughs and looks away. "Why will your father be happy to meet me?"

"Why wouldn't he be?"

Bellamy gives her an unimpressed look. "I can think of a few reasons."

"I can't. I write to him about you all the time. He knows how important you are, to me and to Lexa."

"Oh." He looks like she struck him. "Clarke, you have to know I'm not the kind of man a gentleman wants spending time with his daughter," he says helplessly. She stops walking; it takes him a few seconds to notice she's no longer heading toward the mess with him, and he turns back to her, confusion all over his face. "What?"

"You are _exactly_ the kind of man I should be spending time with," she tells him, fierce and furious. "Don't ever say you're not. If my parents think you're not, they're _wrong_ , and we'll leave." He stares at her in shock, jaw agape. She shoves him in the chest, hard, and it doesn't her hurt like last time. She really must be getting her strength back He even staggers a little. "I can't believe you _think that_! I don't care if you don't want to come, but don't tell me it's because you shouldn't be--"

"Clarke," he says, distressed. "I don't--look, _I don't think that_. But I know what people see when they look at me. I know you don't." He smiles down at her, and she wants to be mad at him, but he looks so fond, all she really manages is an incredible desire to kiss him. She could pull him down to her so easily. "I know you never have," he says. "But I wouldn't be surprised if your parents did. It sounded like you didn't get along with them. I don't want to make this worse for you."

"They'll get used to you, the same as they'll get used to Lexa," she says, firm. "Or I'll stop going to see them. You're my First."

His smile widens, teasing now, but she still wants to kiss him. "You said I was your best friend, too."

"You are," she says, starting toward the mess hall again. They're going to be late for supper. "I'm going tomorrow. I'd rather bring you, but I'll ask Miller if you're really so opposed."

Bellamy jogs after her. "Miller would hate having to put up with you," he says. He drapes his arm around her, casual, and Clarke smiles. "You're going to be aching and irritable the whole time. I wouldn't make anyone else take that on. It would be selfish of me."

"So I'm your best friend too, then," she remarks, and he lets go of her to hold the mess hall door open.

He's waiting for her in the morning, with a small bag for the trip, since they're planning to stay overnight.

"I reserve the right to sleep outside with the dragon if it gets too uncomfortable," he says. "I've had more than my share of uncomfortable talks about my heritage."

"It's cold," she says. "You'd catch something sleeping outside." She grabs his wrist, makes him look at her. "If it gets too uncomfortable, _tell me_. And we'll leave."

He looks down at her for a long moment, like he's looking for any hint that she doesn't mean it, but he finds none. As he shouldn't; she'd leave in a second, if he asked her to. "All right," he says. "I will."

Once they're in the air, Clarke feels instantly better. Even if her mother refuses to see her, sends her away at once, she'll be glad just to have gotten to go out with Lexa. The dragon is all concern, moving slowly and carefully, and doesn't go up to her regular speed until both Clarke and Bellamy have assured her it's safe. Apparently Clarke can't be trusted when it comes to matters of her own well being. 

"I'll have to call you Lieutenant Blake," she remarks. They're nearly there, but it's only just occurred to her. "I think my mother might die of shock if I called you anything more personal than that."

He snorts. "Am I back to _my lady_ , then?"

"It would be Lady Clarke, if anything," she says, dry. "But no, Captain Griffin, if you please. I'd rather not have my mother thinking my fellow aviators think of me as a lady. I'm sure she'd use it as evidence I don't belong here."

"Captain Griffin, then," he agrees. "What do I call your parents?"

"Lord and Lady Arkvale," she says, and makes a face. "God, I'm sorry."

"Be careful not to blaspheme in front of them either," he teases, but he sobers quickly. "It's fine, Clarke." He pauses and adds, "I understand why you wouldn't want to do this alone."

She shrugs, awkward. "My father has accepted it, but--neither of them will ever understand, I don't think. My mother is quite a formidable lady, but it never would have occurred to her, to do something like this. Even if she might not have been happy with her lot in life, she'd never go to such extremes."

"Is that what it was?" he asks, mild. "You were unhappy with your lot in life?"

"No, not exactly." She lies back on Lexa, closing her eyes. She's tethered securely, but Bellamy still grabs hold of her wrist, reflexive, like he's afraid she'll fall again. It makes her smile. "I wasn't looking for a way out. I was ready to do my duty, make a good marriage, keep a house. But when I found it, I wanted this so much _more_."

Bellamy's quiet, and Clarke almost falls asleep right there, stretched out on her dragon's back, with the warm, steady pressure of his hand on her wrist, his fingers on her pulse. But they're almost there, and she needs to tell Lexa where to land.

Although she didn't send word ahead of them, it's hard to miss a Longwing coming in to land, and her father is waiting for them when they land, with her horse saddled and ready. Lexa helps her down, careful, and her father dismounts to give her a fierce hug. She manages to get her arms between them just in time, protecting her still tender ribs from his affection. 

"I was injured," she tells him, smiling. "A fall. Nothing life threatening, but I'd hate to delay my recovery for an embrace."

Her father looks concerned, but then he spots Bellamy, and there's a moment of confusion that evens out into polite formality.

"This is my First Lieutenant, Bellamy Blake," she says, smiling and inclining her head. "Lieutenant Blake, my father, Jacob Griffin, Lord Arkvale."

"My lord," says Bellamy, coming forward, more formal than Clarke's ever heard him. 

"A pleasure, Lieutenant," says Clarke's father, shaking Bellamy's hand. "I've heard a great deal about you. I must offer my thanks--I worried about my daughter, not having been raised in the service. I'm grateful to you for all the help you've given her. I've slept easier, knowing she has such a fine crew."

Bellamy looks vaguely alarmed by the reception, and Clarke tries not to blush. It's nothing she hasn't told him herself, but never so directly, nor in such plain terms.

"I didn't realize your crew would be with you, I only brought the one horse."

"It's only Be--Lieutenant Blake," she says. "It seemed unwise to come alone, with my injury. But I shouldn't ride anyway. A horse is a much rougher steed than a dragon, I wouldn't want to jostle anything. We can walk."

Her father is frowning now. "Just the two of you?"

It takes her a minute, but Clarke realizes, belatedly, that it's the lack of chaperone that bothers him. She's been going around with Bellamy alone for so long she'd forgotten about it entirely, but she doubts telling her father as much would be any comfort to him.

"It's a holiday for the other men," Clarke says. "I didn't want to impose on more of the crew than I had to."

He still looks uncomfortable, but doesn't remark further. Instead he dismounts and says, "We can all walk back together, then."

Clarke tells Lexa what she is to eat (deer and small game, no sheep or cattle) and promises either she or Bellamy will be back to check on her again tonight. The three of them lead the horses back, and there's a heaviness in the air, one Clarke is sure has to do with Bellamy, with his dark skin and hair, with the fact that she was alone with him. She'd expected as much from her mother, but not her father.

She lets her pace lag, just enough that she and Bellamy fall behind, and reaches over to give his hand one firm squeeze, gratitude and apology together. He squeezes back, and they let each other go.

"Did Mother see us come in?" she asks her father.

"Yes."

"And?"

"She said if you'd given up this ridiculous notion and finally come to your senses, you wouldn't have come home riding the dragon. Then she went to tell the servants to make sure your room was ready."

"That isn't so bad as I thought it would be," Clarke admits.

Her father smiles. "We are glad to see you. I take it you're not staying long."

"Just the night, I think. I'm sorry for not sending warning, it was unexpected. I've been deemed well enough to travel but not well enough to serve."

"What happened?" he asks, worried.

"She fell off the dragon," says Bellamy, and Clarke glares at him. He grins.

"You fell off?"

"It was during battle. Enemy fire broke my tether. It could have happened to anyone," she says, stubborn, more to Bellamy than her father. "Another dragon in our formation caught me. I hurt for weeks, but was never in any danger."

"Except during the fall," Bellamy says, dark, and Clarke resists the urge to squeeze his hand again. For all he teases about it, she knows how terrifying it must have been for him.

Her father looks back at them, but says no more.

Her mother is as stunned to meet Bellamy as her father was, but she's polite, unfailingly. She sends a servant to prepare the guest room for him, and once it's ready, he excuses himself, giving them privacy or escaping, Clarke can't tell which. Most likely both.

"He is your--lieutenant?" her mother asks, delicate.

"Yes," says Clarke.

"What of his family? Where is he from?"

"They're aviators. I believe he was born in Scotland."

"How long have they been aviators?"

Clarke shrugs. "For as long as we've discussed. His mother was a Longwing captain, so he knows a great deal about the breed. He's been a tremendous help. I couldn't ask for a better second-in-command."

"And do the two of you often travel alone together?"

"No, usually we go with the crew." Clarke is tempted to tell her mother to just ask the questions she really wants to: why is he so dark, is he a good prospect, has he been inappropriate, has she? But she holds her tongue, because she's an aviator now, first and foremost, and she hopes her mother will remember it sooner or later.

"Are there any other women in your crew? How many other women are in the service?"

"One of my runners," Clarke says. "None of my officers. Lieutenant Blake's sister is a lieutenant as well, serving on a different dragon. A few others, but I haven't asked for an exact count. I am the only Longwing captain stationed at our base, but I do not lack female companionship."

Her mother nods, but still looks worried; Clarke draws her out of it with gossip about mutual acquaintances, hears about who's to be married and who's expecting children. Her mother pauses after several of the announcements, as if she expects Clarke will be heartbroken, and Clarke does her best to seem, if not upset, at least interested. Truthfully, none of the young men Clarke's mother favored for her husband had ever interested her in the slightest.

She goes to fetch Bellamy for dinner, despite her mother's protests that a servant could go. "We have things to discuss regardless," she lies breezily. "The dragon to be tended. Aviator business."

"You could discuss that in the sitting room," her mother says.

"It is official. Not something we can talk about publicly," she says, and and leaves before her mother can respond.

She knocks on Bellamy's door and then pushes it open; he's sitting in an armchair, reading a book he must have brought with him. Clarke smiles, leaning against the door frame. "You don't have to hide up here."

"I was giving you privacy," he responds, smiling back. "How are your parents?"

"It was my mother, and she's--much the same. I think she was hoping I'd be distressed to hear my former beaus had married or become engaged and come home to make a better match, but I've once again disappointed her."

"How many beaus did you have?" he asks, sounding amused.

"According to me, or to my mother?"

"I think that's an answer all by itself. Were you just coming to tell me I'm allowed to leave?"

One of the maids shows up just as Clarke is about to answer, not that she's particularly surprised. Of course her mother wouldn't really leave them alone. "I apologize for interrupting, my lady," she says, bowing, and it makes Clarke blush, to have someone else address her so in front of him. "But your lady mother wished me to tell you dinner is about to be served, and to bring the officer down."

Clarke assumes her parents hadn't told the servants of her new rank, but she is wearing her uniform. It still seems unwise to make too big a deal of it; it's a secret that will be troublesome, if it gets out. She can put up with being a lady for another day.

"Thank you, Anna, we'll be down directly."

The maid looks vaguely uncomfortable. "She did tell me to wait, my lady."

Bellamy smiles wryly. "I'm coming now," he says, closing his book and shrugging on his jacket. Clarke catches the girl giving him an appreciative gaze, and she can't blame her, but she still feels a flicker of irrational, possessive jealousy. Surely he's too worried about making a good impression to try to bed one of the servants in her parents' house. Even if she is quite lovely.

"I wouldn't count on many private conversations for the next day," he remarks, leaning in close so Anna won't overhear. "Your mother seems very concerned with propriety."

"I don't understand what she thinks will happen," Clarke replies, just as low. "Why on earth would I seduce you _here_ , of all places?"

He snorts. "Where would you rather seduce me?"

"On the dragon, obviously. In the throes of passion, you'd fall off, and then you couldn't tease me anymore."

That startles a real laugh out of him, and Anna looks back at them. They spring apart like naughty children, but once she's stopped paying attention again, Bellamy says, "I'm glad you've put so much thought into this."

"I thought you'd be proud, yes."

Dinner is only mildly awkward. Clarke's mother asks Bellamy broad, overly polite questions about his upbringing, which he answers honestly, without giving any of the answers that would truly scandalize her mother. He tells her he joined the aviators when he was seven and worked as a runner on his mother's dragon until her death. When asked of his father, he smiles and says he was a sailor from the Philippines. Clarke doesn't know if he's actually dead or the past tense is simply for convenience, but it's enough to make her mother drop the subject.

"How long do you think it will be before you get a dragon of your own, Lieutenant?" her father asks, his first contribution to the conversation.

Bellamy looks as surprised by the question as Clarke is; he was clearly ready for the interrogation about his family history, but not this. "It's hard to say, my lord," he says. "Eggs are notoriously unpredictable, and a great deal of it is timing and coincidence. Captain Griffin, like so many captains, was in the right place at the right time. If I'm ever in the same position, I may get a beast of my own." He isn't looking at Clarke, and his ears are going a little pink. "I'm in no rush. I have a good assignment now, and I'm grateful for it."

Clarke might be a little pink herself.

After supper, Bellamy excuses himself to check on Lexa. "You shouldn't walk all the way out there again," he tells Clarke, when she tries to protest. "She and I are in agreement on this. You need to rest."

"Tell her we'll leave tomorrow afternoon," she says. She is still tired, and Bellamy certainly won't budge on this.

His smile is soft. "That's the fastest I've ever made you see sense. You must be feeling worse than I thought."

Clarke doesn't realize her mother was watching the exchange until she remarks, "He seems like a decent young man."

She has to smile. "He does, doesn't he?"

*

Bellamy breakfasts with them the next morning and discusses books with her father, and then joins Clarke and her mother in the sitting room, reading while the two women sew and occasionally discuss people he doesn't know. Lady Abigail still isn't warm or welcoming, but she seems to have accepted Bellamy in the same way she's accepted the rest of Clarke's career--she isn't comfortable with him and may very well never be, but she realizes there's nothing she can do about him

After the midday meal, they say goodbye to her mother. Her father walks them back to the dragon, embraces Clarke and shakes Bellamy's hand again, and watches in bemusement as Lexa checks Clarke over to make sure she hasn't aggravated her injuries.

He waves as they leave, and Clarke waves back. Clarke doesn't feel better for having gone so much as she feels that she did the right thing by going. It's not until they're halfway back that she speaks again. "Thank you for coming. Even knowing it would be--uncomfortable. I should have listened to you about that, instead of--"

"Don't apologize," he says, shrugging one shoulder. "Honestly, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be."

"You agreed to come expecting _worse_?" she asks, horrified. "They were--"

"Understandably worried about their daughter being with a man without an escort," he says. "But your mother seemed more concerned about my defects as a suitor than because of any particular prejudice. As I already know I'm a wholly unsuitable marriage prospect, it doesn't bother me very much that others agree."

Clarke doesn't agree. "You'd be a fine prospect, for the right woman."

He laughs at that. "A damning qualification, if I've ever heard one," he teases.

"I have the same one," she says. "All aviators do. But I'm sure some of us make happy marriages."

"Some of us do," he agrees. He looks away from her, out at the open sky. "And are you still planning to make the attempt? Now that so many of your former beaus are spoken for."

There's something in his voice that makes her heart speed up and her throat go dry, some strange casualness. She wets her lips and says, "For the right man."

He laughs softly. "I suppose I should have seen that coming," he admits. "I hope you find him."

She strokes Lexa's neck. "Yes. So do I."


	6. Chapter Five: Assignment

Miller's waiting for them when they land, sitting with Green and Jasper, who must have just arrived. Bellamy gets down first, since he's not nursing still-bruised ribs, but he doesn't say anything to Miller, waits for Clarke to dismount instead. Miller isn't really the type to just idle around waiting. If he's here, it's on business, and Clarke is the captain.

"Miller," says Clarke, nodding her greetings. "Captain Green. Were you waiting for us?"

It's Green who stands. "I have orders for you."

Clarke frowns at the papers he's holding out. "I'm not cleared for active duty yet."

"You are now," says Miller. "They don't have anyone else to send, and it's not like we were doing anything else."

"She's still getting better," Bellamy says, crossing his arms and glaring, like it's Miller's fault that she's been approved for duty.

"We just proved I'm fine flying," she says, absent, as she scans the papers. The orders are official and unambiguous. "Our ambassador in Greece just traded for some dragon eggs, and someone needs to get them. Sooner rather than later, they're not sure when the first one is going to hatch." She looks at Bellamy. "It's not combat. I can see why they cleared me."

"It could be combat. We're flying across the continent. Who knows what we'll find there."

Clarke and Miller exchange a look; Miller rolls his eyes. "Are you suggesting we ignore our orders because you're convinced you know better than the doctor if I'm ready to fly?" she asks.

Bellamy scowls at her. "I know you're eager to get back to--"

"We have orders," she says again. "It's not about what I want. Does the rest of the crew know?" she asks Miller.

He nods. "We'll be ready to go when you are."

"How long do you need?" she asks Bellamy.

His jaw works, but she's right and he's wrong, and he knows it. "Give me an hour. If you break your damn ribs, I'm going to feed you to Lexa."

She rolls her eyes. "See you back here in an hour."

Octavia is already in Clarke's room when she gets there. "Green told me you had to go, I figured you might need help getting your things together. You're still not recovered, right?" She looks up from Clarke's bag with a calculating expression. "How angry was Bell when he found out you guys got ordered out?"

"Angry," Clarke admits, smiling. "But orders are orders. Even he couldn't argue with that."

Octavia laughs. "I'm sure he tried."

"He did."

They pack in silence for a minute, and then Octavia asks, "What did your parents make of him?"

"They were--" She considers, trying to figure out what she thinks happened. "Scandalized, honestly. I don't know how it didn't occur to me that they'd be horrified I was traveling alone with him. It's been a year, I've stopped noticing. But I think they liked him as much as they could have, all things considered. My father knows how much he's helped me."

Octavia nods, and she's quiet again. Once they're packed, she finally asks, "Why did you bring him?"

Clarke had a lot of good reasons that should would have told Bellamy if he'd asked. His formation was out of commission, so he didn't have other duties, unlike Raven and Octavia. And, unlike Collins, his dragon would be gone as well, so even in an emergency, he couldn't have been much use. As to why she'd chosen him of all her crew, that seemed obvious; he was her First Lieutenant.

Instead, she'd yelled at him and told him he was her best friend, which is also true, but she hadn't really meant to say it.

"I wanted him to come with me," she says instead, even more honest.

Octavia smiles. "Good."

There isn't much daylight left, but they make it down to Dover, so they can start across the channel in the morning. Admiral Emily Roland meets them when they land, ruffles Bellamy's hair and asks if him he's been eating properly, and tells Clarke the two of them will be dining together.

"I'd been meaning to come up and meet you," the admiral says, a little bashful. "To welcome you to the service. But I'm sure the Blakes have been taking care of you."

"Bellamy served with you, didn't he?" Clarke says.

"Yes, right after his mother died. He's a good man, when he gets over himself."

Clarke has to smile. "He is. He and Octavia have been very helpful. And the others."

"So you're settling in well? It's been--a year, hasn't it?" She smiles. "Time does fly, when you get older."

"I'm doing well, yes." She wets her lips. "Do you know why we were chosen for this mission?"

"Because you're free." She raises her eyebrows. "Did you need more of a reason?"

"Iskierka's free as well. I'm sure other dragons."

"Iskierka doesn't work well in formations," says Roland, amused. "I've known her since she hatched, and she's always been very--independent."

"You have?"

"I served on Temeraire, when I was a girl."

Clarke pushes her food across her plate, considering. "Is there anything you think--I should know?" she asks, hesitant. "I didn't grow up in the service, I know there's a great deal I've missed, and--"

"From what I've heard, you're doing very well," says the admiral. "I think the most important thing to remember is that you belong here. The dragon chose you, and she wouldn't have if you weren't the right woman for the job." She smiles. "And aviators aren't nearly as polite and proper as the army or the navy. If your crew didn't respect you, you'd know about it. Especially Blake. He's not one to keep his mouth shut."

Clarke laughs at that, and then worries she's not allowed to. But Admiral Roland looks pleased. "He did let me know at first," Clarke says. "But we've gotten used to each other."

"I worried about the two of them a great deal, after their mother died. Aurora and I were friends, I'd known her children for their entire lives. Octavia found her position on Iskierka without much trouble, and I think Granby thanks God every day for it. But when I found she and Bellamy didn't get along--" She laughs, shaking her head. "Knowing the both of them, I can't say I was surprised. But I still didn't like the way he skipped from assignment to assignment. I hope he does better with you."

It seems unreal to Clarke, sometimes, how the two of them must have grown up, and that Bellamy's had so much trouble finding a crew. He's smart and capable, perhaps a little outspoken, but the Corps never seems to stand on ceremony. He's an excellent officer, and as grateful as she is to have him on her crew, she can't help but be annoyed that no one else recognized it first.

"I'm surprised you didn't take him," she tells the admiral.

"He left to serve with Octavia, once she was old enough. I have my own children to take on Excidium, so there wasn't any reason for her to join my crew, and the two of them have always planned to be together." She looks into the distance. "By the time she was on Iskierka, my own crew was full. I'm glad he seems to have settled in. He was--I think he was angry for a long time."

"I'm glad too," Clarke says. It's strange to remember how long everyone's history is, how much they all know about each other, when she knows nothing. "I'm very lucky to have him."

They talk about the mission for a while, Admiral Roland giving general advice on traveling in formation, which Clarke hasn't done before, and on how to be a female captain abroad. Pretending to be a male captain abroad is apparently the most popular way to handle the awkwardness, which she might have been able to guess herself, but it's still discouraging.

"You might rather let someone else do the talking, too," Roland says, sighing. "One of the other captains, or one of your lieutenants. It's easier than risking an awkward and potentially violent conversation if you're found out." She smiles, tight. "I wouldn't want to do anything else, but it can be frustrating, at times."

"I suppose I'm not surprised." She hides a yawn, and the admiral looks amused. "I'm sorry, it's been a long day."

"No need to apologize," says the admiral. "Please, get some rest. You have a long journey ahead of you."

It is a long journey. It's a different kind of riding than she's done before, days in flight, tiring with long inactivity. It's _dull_ , and she never expected that. The hours do take their toll, and her ribs ache, but they don't get any worse. It's unpleasant, but bearable.

"At least we have beds every night," Bellamy says darkly, watching as she winces dismounting. "You should still have a doctor look at you."

"I'm sore," she says. "Believe me, I don't want to be injured any more than you want me to be. But you're stiff too, don't pretend you're not. We all are." 

He grumbles, but doesn't bother denying it, and, miraculously, he stops telling her she needs medical attention. They move around as much as they can on the flights, running drills once she's well enough, making up for the weeks of inactivity during her convalenscence. Still, even with all that, crossing Europe on a dragon isn't any more exciting than it was when she did it on boats and trains before.

The main advantage it has is speed; the days are long and boring, but there aren't nearly so many of them as there could be.

Once they enter Greece, she gets another surprise: Bellamy is _excited_. He's looking out over the landscape, trying to catch sight of ruins and landmarks. When she raises her eyebrows at him, his cheeks flush.

"I read a lot of classics," he says. "I like Greek history and mythology."

She has to smile. "A shame we can't dally. Maybe next time."

"I doubt we'll ever have much time to play tourists," he says, but he sounds regretful. They have to stop to eat and rest the dragons anyway, so Clarke picks a spot close to some ruins, and drags him off to explore while they eat.

"You're not helping with rumors, you know," he remarks.

"What rumors?"

"You brought me home to your estate with you. It was--I've had a few of the crew ask what that means."

"That I couldn't go alone," she says, but she knows what everyone is thinking. Collins asked her about it, in an overly casual way, before they left Dover. She was embarrassed and evasive and almost certainly only made him more suspicious. At least if he thinks she and Bellamy are seeing each other, he may give up on her. She can hope. 

"I know you're not that naive," he says, giving her an unimpressed look.

"I'm not. But I don't mind." His jaw drops, and she shrugs at him. "If it keeps anyone else from trying to make arrangements with me, I'll be just as glad."

He lets out a surprised laugh. "You're nothing like I expected a lady to be, did you know that? The lords who join the service still act like lords most of the time. But you're--" He grins. "Improper."

"Why would I bother being proper when you never are?" They take a seat on a flat piece of rock to eat, watching the dragons and the rest of the crew. "And I'm still a little proper." She hasn't actually tried to seduce him, for a start. 

"A little," he agrees. "I'll stop worrying that the rest of crew thinks we're being inappropriate. If you don't care, I don't see why I should."

"You shouldn't." She takes a bite of biscuit. "Speaking of the crew, I need someone to represent us when we arrive at the embassy, so I don't reveal all the secrets of Longwings to the world. Do you want to do it, or should I ask someone else?"

"Have Collins do it," he says. "He knows how to be polite, I'm terrible at it. Besides, the other captains might be offended if you put me in charge."

"Why is it whenever I ask you to do something, you tell me I should have Collins do it instead?" she asks, amused.

"Because you keep asking me to do things he'd be better at." He grins. "If you were looking for someone to pick fights with doctors who think you're ready for active duty or haggle for rare books, I'd be the first to volunteer my own name."

"I suppose it's a good thing you know where your strengths lie," Clarke muses. "It's good to be realistic."

"I try to be."

They arrive in Athens that evening; Clarke stays with Lexa, worried about the dragon after the long flight. 

"I'm fine," she says, irritable, but she curls around Clarke, protective, regardless. "Is it all right for your injuries if you stay? I don't want you to hurt yourself." She looks at Bellamy. "Can she stay?"

He sighs. "I doubt I can stop her. But if you're not worried about impropriety, I might as well stay too."

"Impropriety?" asks Lexa, sounding curious. "What would be improper about Clarke sleeping here?"

"Not me," Clarke says. "It's nothing."

Lexa nudges her. "It's not improper for Blake to sleep here either."

"It's usually improper for an unmarried man and a woman to be alone together," Bellamy supplies. "But Clarke and I are officers, so the normal standards of propriety don't apply to us."

"Oh," says Lexa, dismissive. "Is this about sex? Temeraire told me about that. He said it was very normal, but humans worry about it a great deal."

Clarke glances at Bellamy, who seems to be trying very hard not to look amused. "We do worry about it a great deal."

"Well, I think it would be completely proper if you wanted to have sex with Blake. I've been told it's enjoyable. I'm looking forward to trying it myself."

Clarke chokes on a laugh. "What on Earth did Temeraire _tell you_?" she asks.

"That it was enjoyable," Lexa says simply, settling in. "Do we have cows? I need to eat something before I sleep."

Bellamy clears his throat. It's dark out, but Clarke can still see his blush. "I'll go check in about food for the dragons."

Clarke strokes Lexa's nose. "You probably shouldn't mention sex in front of Bellamy again," she says. It's hilarious to her that he seems more prudish about it than she does; Lexa has always been blunt, of course she'd be blunt about this too. "He's worried about my virtue."

"What's your virtue?"

"It's--hard to explain," Clarke says. "Part of a woman's worth is tied to her not having sex. If she does so before marriage, she's considered quite ruined. But by most standards, I was ruined as soon as I became your captain, so it seems pointless to worry about."

"I didn't ruin you," Lexa says.

"You didn't." Clarke smiles. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

When Bellamy gets back, Lexa glares at him and says, "Clarke's virtue has nothing to do with sex. You shouldn't think it does. And she's not ruined."

"Jesus, what do you tell her when I'm not around?" Bellamy asks, and Clarke grins.

"Don't worry about it. Just go to sleep."

In the morning, she tells Collins to take the lead with the ambassador, and tries to make herself look as masculine as possible.

"You look like you're fourteen," Bellamy teases.

"I didn't have time to try to fake stubble," she says. "I'm a very young lieutenant, obviously. I'm a prodigy."

"Of course you are."

It turns out he was right about Collins, too; he's the prefect representative, polite and effortlessly diplomatic, saying all the right things. And the situation was more fraught than Clarke would have expected; she's not sure what the ambassador did, but it's clear that part of the reason for their being summoned was he wasn't convinced that whatever deal he'd made would truly be honored. He finally takes Collins aside, and when they return, Collins comes over to Clarke and Bellamy.

"One of the eggs is about to hatch. He's not even sure we should move it. We might have to harness it here."

Clarke glances at Bellamy. "Looks like you're getting your own dragon sooner than you thought."

Bellamy wets his lips. "Who else can harness it?"

"You're the most senior--" Clarke starts, but Bellamy ignores her.

"Miller will get his father's dragon, he shouldn't do it. What about Jaha?" he asks Collins.

Collins looks about as confused as Clarke feels. "Jaha?"

"He'd be a good captain."

" _You'd_ be a good captain," Clarke points out.

"You think Jaha wants it, Collins?" he asks. He hasn't looked at her this whole time, and she's going to _strangle him_.

"Of course he does, but--"

"Great. Just get the egg, we'll figure out the rest. Clarke knows how to make a harness. I'll go see what I can find."

Collins looks at Clarke, totally baffled. Clarke rubs her face. "He's right, the first priority is getting the eggs. I'll talk to Blake." She pauses. "Don't tell Jaha yet. I'll take care of it."

She takes off after Bellamy, finding him just outside the embassy. "What was that?" she demands.

"A discussion of who should harness the egg if it's really that close to hatching."

"It should be _you_ ," says Clarke. "You're a great officer. You might not get another chance like this for a long time, right? Maybe _never_. Why don't you want it?"

"I've never really planned on having a dragon," he says.

"You didn't have to plan on it. You can still do it. This is your opportunity. You said yourself, you never know when one's going to come, or if it will ever come again. If you don't take this, you may never have a dragon of your own. And I know you were planning to be Octavia's second-in-command for--well, forever, but--you don't have to be."

"I'm not going to be," he says. "Iskierka would bite my head off." He looks down at her, worrying his lip. "Listen, honestly? I've never _wanted_ a dragon."

She frowns. "Never?"

He starts walking back toward the field where their dragons are staying, and Clarke falls into step with him. "You're right, for a long time, I just thought I'd be Octavia's second. That's even after our mom died, though, when it would have made more sense for me to be the one getting the dragon." He sighs. "I don't think I'd be right for a captain. A captain has to put their dragon first, always. And themselves. And I've never been good at either of those."

"You'd always be thinking about Octavia," she says, and it makes sense, but--it feels sad too. Or lonely. Clarke thinks there should be room in his world for a dragon and his sister.

"Not just Octavia," he says, and when she turns to frown at him, he's already looking at her, steady. Her breath catches and for the first time, she realizes he might _not_ look at his sister like this. He looks away, breaking the contact. "I'd worry about you and Lexa too," he says, voice too light, but she _knows_. It shouldn't make her heart pound, because it's exactly what he'd planned to do with Octavia. It should feel fraternal, but it doesn't. It makes her feel hopeful and terrified all at once.

"We'd--" She wets her lips, tries to get control of her voice. "You don't have to give up on your advancement for us, Bellamy. You don't have to be my First forever."

"I don't have to be," he agrees. "But--I like being your First, and I like not having my own dragon. You aren't going to order me to try for it, are you?"

"No," Clarke says. "If you're willing to stay with me, I'm not going to send you away." She pauses, but--her heart is still going wild, and this feels _important_. "I want you to stay."

"Good," he says, smiling at her, soft. "I want to stay too." He clears his throat, claps her shoulder, all camaraderie, but he can't erase the way he looked at her, what she saw in his face. She's not good at this, but she's _sure_. She knows what his expression meant. "Come on," he says, voice a little rough. "Let's go make a harness."


	7. Chapter Six: Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may notice, I've decided we have two chapters to go after this. So if you were thinking maybe there would be an overarching plot or something, nope! Really just dragons and fluff.

"This isn't as hideous as I was expecting," Bellamy observes, shooting Clarke a grin. He, Clarke, and Jaha have been putting the finishing touches on the harness, and she's equally glad that Bellamy is helping and glad that Jaha is there as well, so it isn't just the two of them. She's not sure what to say to Bellamy about her feelings yet, and has resolved to wait until they're done with this assignment to figure it out. Even if half the formation already thinks he's bedding her, she'd rather wait for some privacy. And perhaps by the time they're back in England, she'll know how to bring it up.

"Lexa loves her first harness," Clarke tells him, smug. "Don't you?"

Lexa, who has been dozing while pretending to help them, perks up. "Oh, yes! It's perfect. Much better than this harness. If I have any eggs, it will be their first harness too. Do you want to see it? I brought it with me."

Bellamy looks vaguely alarmed; Jaha laughs. Clarke hadn't spent much time with Jaha before this, and she regrets it now. Between her awkwardness with Collins and general dislike of Murphy, she found it easier to give all of Cosmos's crew a wide berth, but she's found she likes Jaha over the last few days of helping with his harness. He's intelligent and funny, a good conversationalist, and charmingly unable to quite believe his good fortune that a dragon egg on the verge of hatching has fallen into his lap.

Collins and the ambassador managed to get all of the promised eggs without too much more difficulty, and the doctor who came along with them agreed that the one egg was close enough to hatching that it wouldn't do to start flying with it, not if it might jeopardize the harnessing. So they've had a few days of leisure in Athens, which is far from the worst thing in the world. When they're not working on the harness, Bellamy is happy to drag Clarke around the city, haggling in obscure bookshops and looking for museums and historic sights. She's excused from dining with the ambassador and the other captains for fear of her secret coming out, and sends Miller in her place, choosing to eat with Bellamy and Lexa instead, which is much more enjoyable.

She's still quite sure he loves her.

"I think that's good enough to get us home," Clarke says, nodding at the harness at last. "Did the doctor tell you how long?"

"The same as he's been saying for days," says Jaha, glancing over to the eggs. "Any hour now." He's been sleeping on a bedroll next to them, and taking his meals here. The second the egg starts to crack, he'll be ready. It's sweet, really.

"Well, if we're done, I'm going to go ask about that Aeschylus again," Bellamy says, stretching. "If it hasn't sold yet, he'll be desperate." He cocks his head at Clarke. "Are you coming?"

"Do you need me here, Jaha?"

"No, the runners should be enough company," he says, smiling over at the group of them. The runners are always hovering around the eggs, hoping one will crack. "You go on."

Clarke gathers her hair into a horsetail and pulls a hat on over it. She doesn't look masculine, particularly, but no one expects a woman dressed in officer's clothes, so their assumptions are on her side.

"You could have brought some feminine clothing," Bellamy remarks, as they fall into step together. "It would have been easier."

"I didn't know we were staying. Besides, I haven't worn skirts in over a year. I'm not sure it would have been easier. I'd be tripping everywhere."

He grins. "That's how Octavia is. She never tried a dress until she was fourteen, and she fell over in three steps. She blames the shoes, though."

Clarke laughs. "I can hardly even imagine her kitted out like a lady."

"It was disconcerting." He glances down at her. "I expected you to do it more often, honestly. At least when you went to town, or visited home. But I don't think I've ever seen you in anything but your uniform."

"Someone was very fond of reminding me I was a lady," she says, giving him a pointed look. "I thought staying in my uniform would be a good way to show him I was an officer."

Bellamy laughs. "Well, you've made your point, so don't hold back on my account. Next time, bring some clothes you can walk down the street in without hiding your face."

"As always, I appreciate your concern." She pauses, but can't help asking, "Have many people asked you why you're not taking the egg, or are they just asking me instead?"

"They're asking you?"

"We're friends. They expect me to have some insight."

"And? What do you tell them?"

"That you lost the coin flip," she says. Aviators don't just turn down dragons. She's only been here for a year, but even she knows that. If everyone knew, he'd never hear the end of it.

"You could have overturned a coin flip," he points out. "It shouldn't have come to one in the first place."

"I think they assume I'm sentimental and didn't want you to leave my crew. And I didn't, so they aren't even wrong, in that respect."

"Clearly they don't know you very well," he says, grinning. "You're not terribly sentimental."

"All women are sentimental, obviously," she says, rolling her eyes. She worries her lip, unsure if she should continue, but finally says, "I hope you never regret your choice."

"Feeling guilty, my lady?"

She glares at him. "No, but--we could have given you more time to make your decision."

"I've had plenty of time. I told you, I've never wanted a dragon of my own. And I put a great deal of thought into it after Captain Granby told Octavia he wanted her to take Iskierka."

"When was that?"

"About a year before you arrived. She'd been serving with them for three years, then." He smiles, wry. "I only made it one."

"If you knew for a year Octavia had a dragon, why did you dislike me so much when I came?" she asks, before she remembers not to. He looks surprised, and she flushes. "Octavia said there weren't so many chances for Longwings, and you disliked me because you thought if I'd told the Corps about Lexa, they would have given the egg to her."

"That's what she told you, huh?" He sounds amused. "I wasn't thinking of her, honestly. There are other women in the Corps who would have benefited from the egg. And I thought you would give up in a month or two, when the work got too difficult, and the Corps would have a headache trying to get the dragon to take a new captain, with Temeraire arguing you should just be allowed to take her home with you, when we needed her." He wets his lips. "And I was--disappointed. I knew you were going to be looking for a crew, and I thought I would have to be on it, and I'd be stuck babysitting an ill-prepared civilian who wouldn't listen to anything I said."

"You didn't like me for a lot longer than a month."

He smirks. "I liked you after a week, I'm just stubborn."

Clarke has to smile too. "So what did you think about after Octavia got her dragon?" she asks. "During that year before I came."

"I thought about leaving the Corps, honestly." He laughs at her look of utter shock. "I know, but--I didn't think I'd ever find a place here. I didn't think I'd do well serving under any of the captains. I'd realized I wouldn't even do well under Octavia, because she didn't listen to me. She thinks I'm overprotective--"

"And you are--"

"The two of you are _captains_ ," he says. "Or, she will be. Your lives rank higher than the crews', and we all know it. But Octavia couldn't trust me as her second, she thought I was overly cautious when it came to her. And I tend to be--assertive."

Clarke snorts. "I hadn't noticed." 

"It's not a good match for Octavia. Honestly, I wasn't sure it would be a good match for any captains, so the most logical thing would be for me to be a captain myself, so everyone had to listen to me, but--" He shrugs. "As I told you, it's never appealed to me."

"Because you don't want to have the bond a captain has with their dragon."

"I had it already," he says. "I couldn't imagine--" He cuts himself off, and Clarke knows it's because he does feel that for someone besides Octavia now. "And I'm not very good at putting myself first. Although you aren't either," he adds, with an unimpressed look.

"That's what I have you for." She regards him. "What would you have done? If you left."

"I have no idea. That's why I didn't leave."

"And it's good for me you didn't. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Miller for your First, Jackson Second, Sterling Third," he supplies, smiling, and she shoves him gently.

He talks the shopkeeper out of the book he wanted and gets two others into the bargain, and by the time they get back to the dragons, the egg is hatching. Clarke wants to watch, but Bellamy refuses to go with her. "If it doesn't take to Jaha, someone else will have to try," he says, low. "You have plenty of candidates around, I'm not planning to be one of them."

The dragon is a little smaller than Lexa was coming out of the shell, mostly blue, with golden scales scattered like sunlight on her hide. Jaha is too stunned to move for a minute, and Clarke nudges him forward with her shoulder.

"Hello," he says. "Are you hungry?"

The dragon cocks her head, and then says, "Yes, I am. Do you have food?" It's a female.

"I do," he says. "I just need to put you in this first."

"Oh!" she looks pleased. "Yes, I heard you talking about it. Please, go ahead. I'm sure it's very fine."

"I'm Jaha," he says. "Wells Jaha. Do you have a name?"

"No," she says, shrugging into the harness. "Lexa told me you'd give me one. Please do it quickly, I'm hungry."

"Costia," he says, smiling. "Let's get you something to eat, Costia."

Once he's sure it's safe, Bellamy comes back with one of the books he'd bought a week earlier, on Greek dragon species, and identifies Costia as a Nyxian Lightwing. Like the French Fleur-de-Nuit, she'll do best at night, and it's quite a wonder she was traded at all. They must have been sure no one would arrive in time to harness her.

"You're going to be in demand," Bellamy tells Jaha. "We don't have any night-fliers in the Corps."

Jaha still looks gobsmacked, as if it hasn't really sunk in yet. Costia is asleep with her head on his lap, now that she's eaten. "I can't thank you enough," he tells Bellamy. "I don't know why you--"

"Don't," says Bellamy. "I didn't want it, you did. Just don't mention it, I'd rather not have my sister asking."

"What are you going to tell her?" Clarke asks.

"I lost the coin flip, right?" he asks, and Clarke laughs.

"Of course you did."

*

Clarke meets with her captains, including the newly minted Captain Jaha, and the doctor after supper, and they all agree that they can safely leave in the morning, barring any unforeseen complications. The dragon is strong and healthy, and they should be able to keep her fed if they stop often. Lexa has taken a shine to the dragonet, and insists that she and Jaha ride with her when they leave, instead of with Cosmos. Clarke is just as glad; she likes Jaha and Costia both, and having the young dragon nearby makes the long days of flying more interesting. She likes to flap around, taking in the sights, and then fall asleep on Lexa's head. It's Clarke's favorite thing to watch.

"They're going to be upset when they aren't in the same formation," Clarke tells Jaha. "I've tried to explain to Lexa, but you know how dragons are. She's already convinced Costia is hers."

Jaha smiles. "As long as she doesn't try to follow us on assignment, I think we'll be all right. If they're close, Temeraire will make sure we're stationed with you when we're off-duty. He takes the dragons' happiness very seriously."

"As he should," Clarke agrees, petting Lexa's neck.

"Do you know why he did it?" Jaha asks after a moment. Clarke follows his gaze to Bellamy, who's telling stories to the runners, talking with his hands as much as his mouth. He does it every day, for their education, and it's her second favorite thing to watch. "I've tried to talk to him about it, but he refuses." He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I'd heard the two of you were--close. But I didn't think a lieutenant would give up a promotion like this for anything."

Clarke shrugs. "It's his business." She claps Jaha on the shoulder. "Think of it as a gift and don't worry about it. I asked if he'd regret it, and he said he wouldn't. Let it go. He doesn't see it as charity, you shouldn't either."

"I'll try not to."

Clarke finds herself increasingly nervous as they get closer to England, and home. She's still determined that's when she should speak to Bellamy, but she doesn't have any idea what she's supposed to say to him. Well-bred young ladies aren't really supposed to do this sort of thing; Clarke isn't prepared for it. She supposes she could ask Raven--Octavia would be too awkward--but even that feels embarrassing. She's not even sure what she's asking him. To marry her? To bed her? To promise to remain with her without marriage? None of them feel right, and it's making her antsy thinking about it. Bellamy's noticed too, of course, which just makes everything worse. 

So she's honestly somewhat relieved, in a guilty way, when they run into combat over the Channel. Excidium is there with his formation, clearly in need of aid, and Clarke is glad for the distraction, the mindless ease of giving and receiving orders, of combat, until Lexa is wounded.

It's a bad one too, a harsh rake of claws all against her flank, and the howl of pain the dragon lets out will linger in Clarke's nightmares for the rest of her life. Lexa jerks to the side, spitting acid reflexively, taking out her attacker, but it's cold comfort. Clarke sees the crew rushing to see what they can do, but with scratches that wide, there's little to be done in the air.

"Can Costia carry you yet?" Clarke asks Jaha, as Lexa works to right herself. Bellamy's shouting at the rest of the formation, trying to get support under them. It's not good to be wounded over open water. She leans over, trying to get a good look at the wound, but the sight of it makes her queasy and dizzy all at once, and she has to move back.

His eyes widen. "What?"

"If she can carry you, the two of you should go to another dragon," she says. "If we don't make it back to land, you at least should. It's not worth risking her as well." They don't have any of the eggs, thank goodness.

"I can make it," Lexa says, harsh. "But Costia should go, if she can."

"Can you?" Clarke asks again, swallowing hard. Lexa never would have said told them to go if she was really sure; if they go down, the other dragons can probably get to the crew, but _Lexa_ \--

"I think so," says Jaha. "We'll go to Excidium's formation, see if they can spare a couple dragons to help bring you back. I think the fighting's almost over."

Clarke glances over to the other formation, worrying her lip. "Are you sure you can make it that far?"

"I can!" says Costia. She looks smaller than she ever has, even though Clarke knows it's not true. Winchesters aren't that much larger than she is, and they handle single riders for long flights.

"Do it, then." She turns back to Bellamy once Jaha has gotten away. "We need to start moving," she tells him. "Anything?"

"They're keeping Cosmos busy," he says, scowling at the two dragons weaving around Cosmos. "If we could--"

Lexa lets out a burst of acid that hits one of the attackers squarely in the back; Bellamy and Clarke watch it fall in silence.

"My aim is much improved," says the dragon, smug, as Cosmos handles his single-foe with ease. "But we should go. I can feel my strength failing."

"They'll catch up if they can spare anyone," says Bellamy, tense. He looks down at Clarke. "The farther we get from the battle, the harder it will be for anyone to get the crew," he murmurs, just for her.

"I doubt we'll be able to move that quickly anyway," Clarke responds, in the same tone. "And everyone can swim if--" She swallows hard. "I think everyone can swim."

"Can _you_ swim?"

"Not for very long," she admits. His jaw works, and she's about to say more when two of mid-weights from Excidium's formation break and start toward them, moving fast. "But I won't have to."

He squeezes her shoulder, once, and then he's gone, barking orders, letting Clarke concentrate on Lexa. She murmurs reassurance into the dragon's neck, telling her how close the shore is, how long it will be before they make it to Dover. By the time they finally make it to the Dover base, she's exhausted, aching with misery and worry and love. The two dragons from Excidium's formation get them on the ground, and Bellamy has to all but drag her down, because her legs aren't cooperating.

He gets her propped up against the wall of a building, where she can see Lexa and doesn't have to support her own weight, and then turns to go. She grabs at his sleeve, uncoordinated and desperate. She has no energy or breath for speech, but he can't _leave_.

"I'm going to find us something to eat," he says, voice as gentle as she's ever heard it. "I'll be back in--"

"I'll go," Miller says. Clarke didn't even realize he was with them. "You two can stay here."

"Thanks," says Bellamy, and sits down next to her. She leans in against his side, and feels him rest his cheek against her head. "She's going to be fine," he tells her, soft.

"Would you tell me if you thought she wouldn't?"

"Yes."

She wets her lips. "Yes," she agrees, because of course he would. "Have you--" She starts, but can't finish; her throat is dry, and her eyes are too wet. He shoves a flask at her, and she gulps the liquid down gratefully. "Aside from your mother's, how many dragons have you seen--"

"More than I'd like. It happens, serving on Longwings. They don't often survive the acid."

Clarke looks down, telling herself not to cry. Captains probably don't cry. "But you think Lexa will live."

"Yes, I do. We have a good crew, Clarke. They did all they could in the air. She was conscious the whole way back, that's a good sign. She may be out of commission for--"

Clarke snorts. "Barely a year, and we've been out of commission twice."

"You're doing a good job," he tells her.

" _We're_ doing a good job."

He laughs softly. "We are."

Miller comes back with some provisions and settles down on her other side to wait with them. Clarke isn't hungry, but he and Bellamy talk her through chewing and swallowing, and at some point after that she falls asleep, too exhausted even to keep herself up with worry.

She doesn't know how long it's been when someone shakes her, and she startles awake. Her head is on Bellamy's shoulder, and Miller's head in on hers, and for a minute all she feels is warm fondness for the world and her crew.

Then she remembers, and the panic comes back. She looks up at Bellamy, who jerks his head toward the doctor, whom Clarke hadn't even noticed. She extricates herself from Miller and Bellamy to stand and greet him properly.

"You're the captain?" he asks.

"Yes."

"She's going to be fine. You'll have to stay here in Dover for at least a few weeks while she heals, but we expect a full recovery."

Clarke nearly sags with relief; she's not surprised to find Bellamy already behind her, ready for it.

"Can we see her?" she asks.

"We fed her and she's sleeping," he says, sounding a little amused. "But you're welcome to go sit with her if you'd like."

Miller heads back to find a real bed with a wave, but Clarke and Bellamy stay, curling up against Lexa's uninjured side instead. They fall back to sleep, and when Clarke wakes up a few hours later to Lexa telling a passing ensign that she needs blankets for her crew for her crew and something to eat, _immediately_ , it's the best thing she's ever heard.


	8. Chapter Seven: Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note change in rating and plan accordingly.

"So now all three of us have been hurt," says Clarke, stretching her arms up over her head. Lexa's recovery has been coming along well, but she and Bellamy still spend most of their time with her. Clarke can't help feeling antsy if she gets too far from the dragon, and it isn't as if she has so many friends in Dover she could be spending time with. She suspects Bellamy mostly wants to keep her company. They also have Jaha and Costia most days; Costia likes to fret over Lexa, and Jaha likes to be with his growing dragon. Miller stops by sometimes as well, but his father is stationed here, and the two of them have been taking advantage of the opportunity to spend time together.

There are worse ways to spend a few weeks of convalescence, all things considered.

"Hm?" asks Bellamy, looking up from his book. The wind is making a riot of his hair, and Clarke has to smile.

"I was saying, you, Lexa, and I have all been injured now, so we're even. No one needs to get hurt ever again."

Bellamy snorts. "That sounds likely." He squints over Clarke's shoulder, and then stands, face serious.

"Admiral," he says, and Clarke scrambles up as well. Admiral Roland looks formal and proper, and Clarke is all too aware that she shed her jacket and there's dirt on her trousers from sitting on the ground.

"Admiral," she echoes.

"Please, you can both call me Emily," she says. "At ease. How is Lexa?"

"I am very well," Lexa says, irritated. "There is no need to keep me off duty."

"I thought the same thing when I was hurt," Clarke tells her. "I remember you did not agree."

"That was _you_ ," Lexa huffs.

Admiral Roland hides a smile. "Yes, well, good. I'm glad to hear it." She turns back to Clarke. "Captain Griffin, now that Lexa is well enough you can leave her for an evening, you have a social engagement."

Clarke frowns. "I do?"

"The merchant whose ship we were protecting in the battle you assisted us with is most grateful that we saved his goods. He's arranged for a celebration in our honor."

"And does he know whom he's honoring?" she asks, frown deepening. "I doubt I can keep up the illusion of being a gentleman for an entire evening."

"Lord, no," says Emily. "None of us could, I would wager. We'll go in skirts."

"I haven't brought any," Clarke says. Bellamy looks supremely amused, and she resists the urge to throw a rude gesture in his direction.

"I thought you might not have. That is why I came so early. We should have plenty of time to find something for you. We can see if anything of mine will do, and go into town if not."

"Wonderful," Clarke mutters, but this is an admiral, and she can't exactly refuse, so when Emily jerks her head, Clarke pats Lexa and follows her.

"Have fun," Bellamy calls, still grinning, and Clarke takes a moment to make the dirty gesture she'd been considering earlier, while the admiral's back is turned. Bellamy just grins wider. As a lieutenant, he doesn't have to worry about these things. Maybe Jaha will be invited, unless the admiral is worried about his reception, given his dark skin. She can hope, at least. Otherwise Collins may be her best hope for pleasant company.

"What do they think we're doing there?" she asks Emily. They're in her rooms, and Clarke is looking to see if any of her clothing fits. None of it is exactly what she'd pick for herself, but if she'd wanted to pick her own clothing, she should have brought something.

"Pardon?"

"If he invited the captains, what will he think when women show up as well?"

"He already knows me as Admiral Kane's wife," she says, casual. "He'll assume you're married to one of the captains as well."

"Are you Admiral Kane's wife?" Clarke asks, surprised.

"For convenience as much as anything," she says. "I needed a daughter and his mother wanted him to marry someone. And it is useful for affairs like this."

"So that would be--allowed," Clarke says, looking at the dresses with more intensity than they probably warrant, so she won't have to meet Emily's eyes. "I wasn't sure aviators were permitted to marry other aviators."

"Why on earth wouldn't they be?" she asks. "Most of us don't care to, but if that's what you want to do, I can't imagine anyone would stop you."

Clarke worries her lip, debating with herself, but it seems best to just ask now, while the question is at least somewhat pertinent to the conversation. "Even aviators of--different ranks? On the same crew?"

"Oh lord," says Emily. "Are those rumors true, then? Yes, fine, if you'd like to marry your lieutenant, no one will mind. I suppose this is why Jaha has a new dragon and Blake doesn't."

"Blake lost the coin flip," says Clarke, straight-faced. There's a nice enough dress in the back, a dark red one that will be quite flattering, if it fits. "Can I take this one?"

Emily is looking at her with some amusement; Clarke refuses to blush. "Yes, that should be fine. A coin flip, really? That's the best you could come up with?"

Clarke shrugs. "I didn't tell him to turn it down, I don't know why it fell to me to cover up his messes now."

"What's done is done," she says, pragmatic. "Try on the dress, we can make alterations if we have to."

*

Jaha is at the party with the rest of the captains, and it _is_ a party, the kind Clarke hasn't been to since her season in London. It wasn't that long ago, but it feels unspeakably far off. Another lifetime, either.

"Everyone is staring at me," Jaha says, in low tones. Clarke and Collins are flanking him, protective; he isn't wrong about how much attention he's drawing.

"Some of them are staring at Captain Miller instead," Clarke says, bright.

Jaha snorts. "You always know just what to say, Griffin." He rubs his face. "It's nice of them to honor us, but I feel more like a sideshow attraction than a guest."

"A lady in the washroom apologized to me. She said it must be awful to be married to an aviator and have to deal with those _dirty beasts_ all the time." Clarke really hopes she meant the dragons; if it was a veiled reference to Jaha and Captain Miller, she's going to find that woman and murder her.

"So, I'm the lucky one here?" asks Collins. "Everyone's just distantly polite to me."

"Yes, you're coming out ahead," Clarke says. "At least the wine is good."

"Aren't you used to parties like this?" Jaha asks her. "You were a lady a lot longer than Collins was a gentleman."

"If I'd liked these things, do you think I would have harnessed a dragon?" she asks.

"A fair point." He grins at her. "If we're going to draw scandalous amounts of attention anyway, would you care to dance?"

Clarke laughs. "With an offer like that, how can I refuse?"

She dances with Jaha, and then with Admiral Kane, who takes advantage of the opportunity to inquire after her training and her family. Clarke spends the whole time wondering how on earth he and Admiral Roland agreed to get married. She can understand their reasoning, but trying to decide how it happened, the conversation they must have had, is boggling. Then Collins asks, and it seems rude to turn him down, when she's already danced with Jaha and Kane. Besides, she thinks they're getting to be friends, now that he thinks she's bedding Bellamy.

But they've barely even started dancing when he says, "You might still be best served by marrying me, you know."

She misses two steps, but recovers. "Excuse me?"

"I know you have something going on with Blake, but--I'd be a much better choice for a marriage. You know I would. My family would be glad I'd married a lady, and yours would have a good excuse for where you'd gone. I know an aviator isn't much of a gentleman, but surely a gentleman aviator is an improvement over--" He clears his throat. "I like Blake, I do, but--a loveless marriage with me would be more of a comfort to your family than finding you've been living in sin with him." He smiles a little. "I need a child, so do you. And I'm sure you were already planning to marry more for social benefit than feeling anyway. I wouldn't ask for fidelity, just--discretion."

He's not saying anything untrue. He's always cared more about the marriage than about her, she's sure, and if she married him, he wouldn't care if she was in Bellamy's bed every night, so long as he got an heir and a respectable woman to show off to his parents. She'd probably be better off too; her mother would be happy. As happy as she could be, at least. 

Bellamy might even agree, but--

"It's kind of you to offer," she says. "And you're right. But I can't."

The dance ends, and she tells Jaha and Collins she's going to take some air. Outside it's warm, with only a little whiff of spring chill lingering in the breeze. 

It's not that far back to the base; they took a carriage over, but it didn't take so very long. And the way is straight and easy.

She hitches up her skirts and starts walking.

* 

Bellamy is with Lexa; the dragon is asleep, curled up in a ball around Costia, and Bellamy is sitting where Clarke left him, still reading. It's gotten dark enough he should have a lamp, but he hasn't noticed yet.

Clarke loves him.

"What are you reading?" she asks, sitting down next to him. She'll have to get Emily's dress cleaned before she returns it.

"You barely lasted two hours," he says, amused. He puts a marker in his book. "I was sure you'd--" He trails off as he sees her, and Clarke smiles, expectant. Her hair is up in an elaborate crown of braids, and the neckline of the dress shows off her shoulders and breasts in ways Bellamy has certainly never witnessed before. She can see his throat work as he swallows, and the brief flick of his eyes down to her cleavage before he snaps them back to her face. "My lady," he says, serious, and she laughs.

"If you start that again, I'm going to--"

She doesn't finish the threat; Bellamy slides his hand up to her cheek, turns her to him, and leans in to press his lips against hers, quick and firm, just a second of contact before he pulls back to look at her. His hand is still against her face, and when she smiles, he lights up, grinning in relief, and leans back in.

His mouth moves against hers, slow, and Clarke tries to follow his lead, to do the right things and show her interest despite her lack of experience. He puts his book down and brings up his other hand, framing her face, and suddenly there's the wet slide of his tongue against her lips and she lets out a surprised laugh, breaking the contact.

"What?" he asks, still grinning, still so _close_.

"I wasn't expecting that."

"I think _everyone_ was expecting that," he teases.

"Not--" she flushes. "Never mind. Do it again. I'll do better this time."

"Wait, have you--" He laughs, burying his face in her neck, making her shiver. "God, you've never even kissed anyone. What do ladies do with their time?"

"I sketched," Clarke says. She tangles her hand in his messy hair. "I'm sure I'll pick it up."

"I'm sure," he says, sliding his mouth against her neck. "I'm going to put my tongue in your mouth. So you're prepared this time."

"We shouldn't--" She starts, and has to stop when he bites her gently. It takes a second to realign her thoughts. "Lexa is going to wake up and ask questions. We should go inside."

Bellamy looks up at her, amused and dark-eyed, and her heart stops. "You know we aren't married."

"Not married _yet_ ," she says, and for the first time since the kiss, he looks off-kilter. It serves him right; she's still overwhelmed.

He wets his lips. "Yet?"

She grins. "Don't tell me you were planning to have your way with me and leave after?"

"No, but--" He surges back up and kisses her again, and Clarke laughs against his mouth.

"Inside, Bellamy," she says, trying to sound firm, but it's difficult when his hands are tracing up her sides. "I don't want Lexa to wake up and ask what we're doing."

"Fine," he huffs, standing and tugging her up. "Only because I'm worried the dragon will have a lot of invasive questions."

He doesn't let go of her hand as they head inside, and Clarke feels giddy with it. 

"Collins told me I should marry him," she tells Bellamy. "And keep you on the side."

"You probably should." He squeezes her fingers. "I assume you disagreed."

"You're mine," she says. "I refuse to pretend you're not."

Bellamy smiles. "I'm yours," he agrees.

They go to Clarke's room, because Bellamy's been put in quarters with the rest of the crew, and they wouldn't have any privacy. She's sure more than a few people see them, but everyone she care about thinks this has already happened. It won't shock anyone.

Inside, Bellamy kisses her again, running his hands up her sides.

"If I'd known you'd actually _like_ the sight of me in a dress," she teases, and he bites her lower lip.

"Don't think I don't like the sight of you in your uniform too," he tells her. "I always like the sight of you."

She laughs. "I didn't think you'd want to stop as soon as the dress came off."

He tugs on the ties at the side of her bodice. "Believe me, I'm planning to do a lot more once the dress comes off."

She flushes, but he distracts her with a longer kiss. He licks at her lips again, and this time she opens for him, letting him slide his tongue against hers, and she whimpers a little at the feel of it. His hands tense on her sides, but then he groans and pushes her toward the bed, still kissing her. She tries moving her own tongue against his, stroking back, and she feels for the first time like she's kissing him back, not just letting herself be kissed, and it's heady and perfect.

He's fumbling with her clothes, getting her undressed with less skill than she'd expect, and she has to pull back again, laughing.

"Have you ever actually had to take anyone out of a proper dress?" she teases.

"Never one so complicated," he grumbles.

"You could have said," she says, and makes short work of the clothing. Part of her knows she should be nervous, to have a man watching her undress, but this is _Bellamy_ , and the feel of his eyes on her as she pulls off her clothing only makes her more eager. When she's fully naked, she looks back up, and he tears his gaze from her body with an obvious effort.

"I hope you weren't planning to wait for the wedding," she says, and it apparently breaks whatever spell he's under. He surges back to her, kissing her hard and fierce, pushing her back onto the bed. One of his hands finds her breast, his callouses rough against her skin, and her hips move of their own accord, like they're looking for him.

"I'd say we don't have to do this tonight if you're not ready, but I think you'd tell me I was an idiot," he says, sliding his mouth down her jaw.

"You're very sweet," Clarke says, sliding his jacket off and undoing the buttons on his shirt. "I've been wanting to do this for months, Bellamy."

"You could have told me." He helps her get the shirt off, and kicks off his trousers too. Clarke runs her hands up his chest, which--she has seen him mostly unclothed before, when he plays football with the younger officers or swims, but she'd always tried not to be too obvious about her appreciation.

"I was waiting until we were back home," she says, and gasps when he scrapes his teeth over her nipple.

"I think you should stop talking," he says, smirking up at her. He swirls his tongue around her nipple instead this time, and Clarke digs her fingers into his back. She's slick between her legs, and she feel his arousal against her leg, hard and large enough to make her heartbeat pick up. It's going to hurt, one of the few things her mother ever told her about sex was that it was going to hurt, but she's still more excited than anxious.

He slides his hand between her legs, starts stroking a spot just above her entrance. She whines, soft, because she wants him _in_ her, but it turns into a moan almost at once, because whatever he's doing feels _unbelievable_.

"I do know what I'm doing," he says, amused.

"Don't brag."

He leans up to kiss her again. "I love you," he says, looking surprisingly shy.

"I know. You turned down a promotion and a dragon for me."

"You and Lexa." He smirks. "And _I didn't want it_."

Clarke's hips jerk into his hand, and she whimpers. There's heat building between her thighs, something desperate and unfamiliar, something wild. She needs more. "I think you should stop talking," she tells him, breathless, and he presses a wet kiss against her neck. 

"I was being romantic," he murmurs, and speeds up his fingers, until she can't speak or even really _think_. She just closes her eyes and tries not to be too loud as the pleasure bursts through her in waves, leaving her shaking in Bellamy's arms.

"That was romantic," she tells him, when she's recovered enough for words.

He laughs and kisses her temple. "I thought so."

"Not what I was expecting, though," she says, and slides her hand up to wrap around his length, making him groan. "I didn't get a lot of instruction on marital duties, but I do understand the basics."

"I don't have--" Bellamy starts, gasping as she gives him an experimental tug. "Fuck. I don't have any contraceptives with me. I assume you're not interested in being out of commission again with an infant, so--" He drops his forehead onto her shoulder. "God, you're going to be the death of me. I'll pull out or something. It's-- _fuck_." Clarke grins and tries the same thing again, a firm grip and jerk, and Bellamy swats her away. "If you're going to do that, you need to slick your hand up," he says, amused. "But I thought you wanted me to fuck you."

"I do," she says, and then, "I love you too."

"Mm," he agrees, sliding two fingers inside her. "I was afraid you just wanted me for sex."

Clarke bites her lip at the unfamiliar stretch of him. She'd tried this with her own fingers, once or twice, but the entrance was never so smooth when she tried it, and she had none of his skill. And he's kissing her again, too, that certainly helps.

It doesn't hurt as much as her mother told her it would when he finally slides in; mostly, she feels desperate for him again, so it's a relief when he pushes inside her. There's a pinch, a few seconds of adjustment, and then he starts to thrust, slow at first, and when she moves his hips to meet him, it begins to feel _wonderful_.

He rubs the same spot as before with his fingers once he's got a rhythm going, and Clarke feels the pleasure build in her again, and she speeds up, desperate to reclaim the feeling. It's not quite as intense as before, but still good, even though Bellamy slides out of her just as she finds her release. He keeps his fingers going, drawing her through it, and then flops on his back, one arm over his eyes. He wraps his other hand around himself and Clarke tucks herself in against him to watch. It takes him only a few quick pulls, and then he's done too, moaning out her name.

They lie in sated silence for a minute, and then Bellamy kisses her hair. "I don't want you to think that was just because of the dress," he remarks.

"Good, because I'm not going to start wearing them again. I nearly tripped walking home." 

He laughs and tugs her closer for another kiss. He seems unable to stop touching her, and she's very, very glad of it. "I'd take an aviator over a lady any day."

"An aviator _and_ a lady," Clarke corrects, closing her eyes.

She feels him pulling blankets up over the two of them. "An aviator and a lady," he agrees. "Goodnight, Clarke."

*

In the morning, Bellamy puts his head between her legs and nearly makes her scream, and then fucks her again for good measure before they throw their clothes on and rush to make it to the mess before breakfast ends. Jaha and Collins are there, and Clarke feels somewhat guilty when Jaha says, "Oh good, I was worried you were killed taking the air." But he sounds amused, so Clarke just shrugs.

"The air was so much better than the party, I couldn't come back."

Jaha snorts. "I'm sure that was it." 

Collins looks mildly embarrassed, which Clarke can't bring herself to feel badly about at all. He wasn't wrong, to make the proposal he did, but--it still upsets her, a little. That he thinks she'd be so faithless.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he mutters to her as they're leaving, out of Bellamy's earshot.

"I know," she says, and it's true. At worst, he thought she was like him, still concerned with her rank and place in society. He doesn't see it as a bad thing. "But I still can't."

She sends Bellamy off to do something on his own so she can talk to Lexa in private; dragons can be possessive, and while she's quite sure Lexa will approve of the two of them, it seems safer to break the news without him.

It's perfect timing--Lexa has just eaten, and she's been cleared to take short flights, so Clarke mounts up and waits until they're in the air to tell Lexa, "I had sex with Blake."

"Good," says Lexa. "Was it enjoyable?"

"It was. We're going to do it more often." She worries her lip. "I love him. I'm probably going to marry him."

"You should. It's only proper. He's ours."

Clarke feels tears prick at her eyes; she closes them, rests her head against Lexa's broad neck and smiles. "Yes, he is. Ours."


	9. Epilogue: Homecoming

It's another two weeks before they're cleared to return home, and Clarke is sure they're only allowed back so soon because the rest of their formation, including Costia and Wells, were released the day after the dinner party, and Lexa is in such a foul mood about it that no one wants to deal with her for longer than is absolutely necessary. The medics claim it's because she'll do better in familiar company, and it's probably even true. Clarke is just as happy to be going back herself.

"We still won't be allowed to be on duty for a few more weeks," she reminds Lexa. The dragon is so excited, Clarke doesn't want her to be let down when she's still not allowed to do anything in Scotland.

"Yes, but we won't be _alone_ in some other base without our friends," Lexa says, and Clarke throws a helpless smile at Bellamy.

Bellamy grins back, and Clarke looks away before she starts looking too love-struck. The most difficult part of her new relationship with her First Lieutenant is, as it turns out, not being horribly obvious about it. Whatever they were doing before was obvious enough without her mooning over him during flights, she doesn't want to make it any worse. But she's quite remarkably _happy_ , and it's hard to not get caught up in it sometimes. Bellamy hasn't been helping, either--leaning in close when they're looking at something together, sitting much nearer to her than necessary at meals, letting his hand brush against hers while they walk. Nothing so obvious anyone else would notice he was doing it, but more than enough to make her want to drag him off somewhere to kiss him senseless. Not that she needs so much encouragement to want to do that. It's very inconvenient.

It hasn't been difficult yet, although she imagines it will be soon. They have a marriage to discuss, and families to notify. She knows Bellamy is worried about her parents, but she's honestly just as nervous about Octavia. As far as she knows, Iskierka isn't on assignment, and she's worried she's in for a long, uncomfortable conversation with his sister about the future of their relationship. Which, she knows, is completely irrational; she's going to do right by Bellamy.

Still, she can't help being relieved when Octavia isn't the one waiting for them on the ground in Scotland; instead it's Raven, standing in the clearing with her arm crossed. Clarke can't think of any emergency Raven can possibly have that requires her immediate attention, so she assumes that Raven just missed them. Between waiting for the dragon and being laid up for Lexa's injury, it has been a while. Clarke's happy to see her too.

But after they embrace, Raven just says, "Took you long enough. Go get cleaned up, you're coming to a wedding." She glances over Clarke's shoulder at Bellamy and Miller. "You too."

Collins came back with the rest of the formation; maybe Clarke turning him down finally convinced him that he should settle for Raven. Clarke doesn't really want to be at that wedding, because Raven deserves better than that, but she wants to be there for her friend, even if she can't bring herself to approve.

"Clarke, Blake, wear something pretty. Wick said you guys told him to stop being an idiot, so you're in the wedding party."

"Oh, _Wick_ ," says Clarke, relieved. "I told him you said she and Collins weren't involved anymore," she adds to Bellamy. "It seemed polite."

"He would have noticed on his own if he wasn't an idiot," Raven says, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, we were just waiting on your dragon to get back before we got married, so get moving. I want to have a pretty ceremony, get drunk, and dance with my idiot husband." She grins. "And it's good to have you back, obviously."

"Obviously," Clarke says, laughing. "We haven't even been gone two months. You certainly move quickly."

"Well, once he stopped being an idiot, it didn't take long for everything else to fall into place," says Raven, with a shrug.

Bellamy clears his throat. "I suppose I can see how that might happen," he says, sounding amused. "Where are we going, once we're dressed?"

The wedding is short and perfunctory, neither Raven nor Wick apparently caring much about the vows or the ceremony itself. Clarke would be surprised they were bothering with it at all, except for the way that neither of them can stop smiling the whole time. And the kiss Wick gives Raven at the end is more enthusiastic than is strictly proper, but given everyone at the wedding is an aviator, all they do is jeer and whoop, and Raven takes a break to tell them all to fuck off before she kisses Wick again.

They've gotten a dance floor set up and a few musicians hired, and someone even made a cake. It's still the most casual wedding she's ever been to, and she loves it.

"Can we do something like this?" she asks Bellamy. They're dancing--not a proper waltz, since Bellamy doesn't know how and no one else is bothering with real steps either, just moving in time with the music--but she thinks that isn't too obvious. Everyone is dancing; it's a celebration.

"Depends on if you tell your parents before we do it."

"I should, shouldn't I?" She plays with the curls at the base of his neck, absent. "Have you told your sister?"

"When would I have had the time? We came straight from the dragon to the wedding. I'll do it when I dance with her. Unless you'd rather."

"No, no, I insist."

He laughs. "She'll be happy, you don't need to worry. She likes you, and you want to marry me. Her only concern was that you'd marry Collins for propriety's sake and break my heart. Which I wouldn't have minded anyway," he hastens to add. "I don't really care about marriage."

Clarke laughs and gives him a squeeze. "Of course you don't."

Bellamy dances the next song with his sister; Clarke dances with Wick, who says he wants to thank her for her help. But he's a terrible dancer, so they give up after only a few steps and just sit off on the side and watch the other couples. Raven is dancing with both Miller and Green, and the three of them are laughing, and Bellamy and Octavia keep glancing over at her, making her nervous.

"Congratulations," she tells Wick. "I'm very happy for both of you."

"Thank you. I assume you're next," he says, jerking his head toward the Blakes.

"Nothing planned as yet," she says easily. "But I assure you we'll keep you informed."

He laughs. "Thanks for not marrying Collins, too. Raven wasn't the only one I was worried about."

"There wasn't ever any chance I would," she says, smiling. Collins is here too, dancing with one of the runners, Charlotte, who's only ten. They're both laughing, and Clarke finds she's not even irritated with him anymore. It's hard to be irritated with anyone; it's a lovely wedding, all her friends are here, and she's happy.

Octavia grabs her after she finishes dancing with Bellamy. "Come on," she says. "I'm taking you for this dance."

Clarke laughs and follows her. "Who's leading?"

"I am, obviously. I'm still in uniform." She does take the lead too, naturally, as if she's used to dancing with ladies. "You're going to marry my brother?"

"Yes. I don't know when, we haven't made any specific plans yet. I probably need to write to my parents and find out if they'll disown me, or just disapprove."

Octavia laughs. "You don't sound too worried about either possibility."

"I already went through the same thing when I harnessed the dragon. I've been ready for them to disown me for years." She smiles. "Lexa was worth it. Bellamy is worth it too."

"Good," she says, and they finish out the dance in silence. Octavia embraces her and hands her back to Bellamy for the next dance. She finishes out the night with him, and he drags her to his room after, in spite of how obvious it is. Everyone knows already. They _are_ obvious.

"My quarters are larger than yours," Clarke points out. "We could have gone there." But she likes his all the same. It's cozy, with all the books, more lived-in than hers. His room feels like a home, and hers still feels like she hasn't settled in yet.

"Octavia told me to give you this, so I needed to come get it," he says, rooting around in his trunk for a small package. His smile is sheepish as he hands it over. "I bought it for a birthday present, but--she told me if I gave it to you, it might give you the wrong impression."

It's a silver ring, in the shape of a dragon, curled in a loop, holding a small gemstone in is mouth. It doesn't look like any engagement ring she's ever seen, but it's beautiful. "I think that was actually the right impression."

He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. "The right impression too soon, then. Sorry it's not--I just saw it and thought you'd like it, I wasn't planning it for anything aside from that. I'll get you a proper one later, something--"

She slides the ring on and kisses him, cutting off the unnecessary apology. "It's perfect," she says, tugging him toward the bed. "Don't waste your money on a new ring, when you could be buying more books."

"You'd rather have more books than a proper ring?" he asks, laughing and tugging her close. "I knew I loved you for a reason."

"I thought it was how I looked in dresses."

"How you look out of dresses," he corrects, and drags her back to the bed.

*

"Why isn't Blake coming?" Lexa asks. They've been cleared for another short flight, just to see her parents, so she can inform them of her upcoming marriage in person. It felt cowardly to break the news in a letter, and Clarke is no coward. "Blake came last time."

"If they're angry, I don't want them to say anything hurtful to him. I'd rather they say it to me, and I'll decide if I want to disown them instead."

"Why would they say something hurtful? They are not allowed to hurt him. If anyone says anything hurtful to him, I'll--"

Clarke smiles and pets her. "It's difficult to explain. Another stupid human thing. He's--not the kind of man my parents would have planned to have me marry."

"Why not?"

"He has no title," Clarke says. "No lineage. And I have both. Ladies with titles and prestigious families are supposed to marry gentlemen with the same."

Lexa huffs. "Well, that's foolish. He's your mate."

"You're very wise in these matters," she says, fond. "When did you become such an expert?"

"I have a mate myself now," says the dragon, sounding very smug and superior, and Clarke is glad Bellamy isn't with her, because she loses her balance and nearly falls with the shock of it. He would definitely tease her about that time she fell off the dragon if he saw.

"Since when? We've only been home for two days, and you can't--" She doesn't actually know if the doctors have to clear her for mating, but she assumed she would have heard if they had. And she finds she doesn't actually want to know the details of her dragon's sex life. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I assumed you could tell," Lexa says. Clarke thinks she might be hurt. "I could tell about you and Blake."

"Oh. I wasn't--thinking you were ready. For anything like that." Clarke scratches the dragon's neck, absent, and then asks, "Can female dragons mate with other female dragons?" Human females can, so she doesn't see why dragons couldn't. And if Lexa has chosen a mate, it must be Costia. She doesn't like of the other dragons so much as she likes Costia. Aside from Clarke herself, and possibly Bellamy.

"Why couldn't we?"

"It's not common with humans."

"Temeraire said it wasn't common with dragons either," Lexa says. "But I told him we were going to be mates, once we were fully grown, and he didn't object. He told me we'd still need to have eggs, but that shouldn't be a problem. I would like eggs."

"So long as you're happy," Clarke says. "I like Costia very much."

"You should. She's perfect."

"She is," Clarke agrees, and smiles when she sees her father, waiting for them on the ground, with two horses, as if he's expecting Bellamy.

Maybe it won't go so badly after all.

*

Bellamy is reading when they arrive back, with the practiced ease of someone who is trying very hard to look casual and unconcerned. He closes his book, wiping his hands on his trousers, and Clarke glances around to see no one is watching before she leans up to press a kiss to his lips.

"My mother says she already told her friends I'd run off with an aviator," she tells him. "Once she met you, she decided it was a better excuse than saying I was visiting family on the continent. They won't be joining us for the wedding, but you are welcome to visit any time." She smiles. "Honestly, it's the best I could have possibly hoped for."

"Try not to sound too thrilled," he teases, but he's smiling, holding her close.

"I _am_ thrilled. I've got my dragon, I'll have a husband whenever we decide to get married. My dragon also has a mate, apparently, did you know that?"

He laughs. "Does she?"

"She says she'll be mating with Costia, once they're both grown. I certainly wasn't going to argue with her."

"Probably wise. She's very determined about these things." He leans in to kiss her again, but before he can, there's the beating of wings from above, and the two of them jump apart just as Green and Jasper land.

"Oh good, you are back," says Green, by way of greeting. He hands her a bundle of papers. "New orders. Apparently your dragon is well enough to serve again."

Clarke sighs. "Are you?" she asks Lexa, and then immediately regrets it, because of course Lexa isn't going to say no.

"I've been well enough for _weeks_ ," she says, as expected, and Clarke gives Bellamy an exasperated smile. He just shrugs.

"Orders are orders, right? I'll go tell the rest of the formation."

"Orders are orders," she agrees, shrugging back into her aviator's jacket and scanning the papers from Green. They're going to Ireland, to help transport some ferals to breeding grounds in Newfoundland. It will be a long journey, and either very boring or very exciting, depending on how willing the ferals are to go, but they'll be on transport ships most of the time, giving Lexa time to rest her injury even as they travel. It doesn't sound particularly exciting, but it's the work, and the work is what she wanted. This is why she harnessed the dragon.

She pets Lexa. "Up for a trip across the ocean?"

"Of course," she says, and then, "What's across the ocean?"

Clarke smiles and pets her leg. "I don't know much about the geography myself. We'll get Blake to show us the maps when we have a chance."

Yes, this is it. Exactly what she wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12805521/chapters/30206610)!


End file.
